


Holding Tight As The Dancers Whirl

by punto_y_coma



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skating, Alternate Universe - Virtue & Moir (lbr), F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Ice Skating, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-04-04 22:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punto_y_coma/pseuds/punto_y_coma
Summary: Anastasia was soaring. With the speakers blaring her favorite song, she was landing every jump. Dmitry’s brown eyes followed her every move. He wasn’t even clapping along with the crowd, he was just staring.Or the Ice Skating AU where Anastasia is figure skating royalty and Dmitry is a struggling singles skater.





	1. Prologue

Anastasia held her grandmother’s hand and squeezed gently before letting go. She stepped into the ice and glided to the center of the rink. All her body vibrated with enthusiasm. She wanted to prove herself and, more than anything else, she wanted to do a perfect skate. If she did, her mom had promised she could stay with her grandmother for the rest of the season. This felt like a life-defining moment for the little girl of eight in the glittery dress.

Across the rink, a disheveled boy had snuck in to the competition and was looking, skeptic, from afar. Dmitry did not care for ice skating, but today, with the snowfall and the wind, he preferred being inside. He was spending more time eyeing expensive-looking wallets and purses, staring at the golden watch of the man in front of him than actually looking at the skaters. When the man started clapping suddenly, waking him up from his daydream, Dmitry turned his attention to the rink. A tiny, pink dot with strawberry blond hair twirled with ease and something about the way she moved was entrancing. He didn’t stop to think, he ran down, trying to get as close as he could to the ice, ignoring the tuts and disapproving glances.

Anastasia was soaring. With the speakers blaring her favorite song, the one her grandmother played for her every night, she was landing every jump. Still, in the back of her mind, she could hear her mother’s severe voice repeating “Stand straight, like a queen!” So she did. Dmitry’s brown eyes followed her every move. He wasn’t even clapping along with the crowd, he was just staring. She twirled gracefully and the song ended. Her ears were ringing, her hands were sweating and a bit of makeup had found its way into her right eye but she was smiling. Her sisters were chanting her name from the stands and as she bowed she heard a boy’s voice join them.

“Anastasia! Anastasia!”

She turned to find Dmitry, with his messy hair and his toothless smile. She couldn’t help laughing as she bowed. He bowed back. This felt like a life-defining moment for the thin boy of ten in the raggedy jeans.

 

 


	2. Once Upon a December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dmitry had trouble sleeping that night. He was more nervous about the prospect of seeing Anastasia than he had been of skating the day before.

Dmitry was soaring. With the speakers blaring his favorite song, a punk anthem his father used to play for him every night, he was landing every jump. Still, in the back of his mind, he could hear his father’s soft voice repeating “Take that chance!” So there, as he bowed and left the ice, a decision was made: He would stay and wait until Anastasia Romanova showed up to defend her title the following day. Introduce himself, try to impress this girl that was, for all intents and purposes, ice skating royalty. Hopefully, disaster wouldn’t ensue.

Vlad sat down next to him to wait for the score, wearing a poofy, over-sized jacket that made him look positively ridiculous.

“Why would you wear that?” Dmitry chuckled between gulps of water.

“You can store all sorts of trinkets in the lining of this thing”, Vlad was talking through a smile, like he had taught Dmitry to do when discussing their illegal activities in public. “And you wouldn’t believe the stuff privileged skaters and their sponsors leave lying around”.

The screen in front of them showed Dmitry’s best score of the season… Still, not enough for a medal. Dmitry let out a heavy sigh. He was nineteen and already losing faith in his childhood dream.

“Season’s best, my boy!” cheered Vlad, completely unaware of his friend’s existential crisis. This was why they worked so well as a team. Dmitry was a realist to a fault, slow to trust and quick to put himself down; Vlad was in charge of keeping the dreams of both of them alive. When Vlad patted Dmitry’s back, his jacket jingled and chimed. They did their best to contain their laughter.

~

“I’ve been thinking…” started Dmitry, playing with his half-empty glass of vodka, trying to sound disinterested. “Can we stay one more day in Moscow?”

“What for?” slurred Vlad.

“My dad always talked about it. How grand it was. It’s no big deal, I’d like to walk around for a bit. Maybe check the ladies final. What do you think?”

“Sure, why not”, he hiccupped. “We have the money!” he added loudly, attracting unwanted attention, and Dmitry decided it was time to leave the bar.

“Okay, bedtime, comrade”. Dmitry put Vlad’s arm around his shoulders and dragged him out.

“Ladies, ladies! Do you think Lily will be there? She’ll be so happy to see me”, Vlad went on about Lily and her bright eyes and her button nose all the way back to the inn they were staying at.

~

Dmitry had trouble sleeping that night. He had an ominous feeling he couldn´t shake off. In the morning, when Vlad noticed he looked a bit pale, Dmitry simply shrugged and mumbled some excuse about being hungover. The truth was that he was more nervous about the prospect of seeing Anastasia than he had been of skating the day before.

After breakfast, Dmitry took his battered coat and left to walk around Moscow. He wasn’t lying when he said his father used to talk a lot about the city, he admired it… And he also hated it. It had that proud, imperial look his father had always frowned upon. Dmitry often wondered what he would think of him now, if he would approve of him. He was a clever, hard-working, and driven young man. However, he also shook hands with uppity athletes and shared bus rides with their entourage.

No point dwelling on that now, Dmitry resolved. He had never belonged to that crowd, not really. Wearing second hand costumes, cutting his hair in that old-fashioned way that made him look like a 1920s newsie, working twice as hard to get half the points in competition. His cold, gloveless hands were a sore reminder of the divide that existed between him and the other skaters. A couple of rumpled rouble bills were all the money he had on him. He felt childish as he took the bills out of his pocket to check if it was enough to buy flowers for Anastasia.   

~

Dmitry sat down and waited. With his pale face, restless leg and tiny flower bouquet, he was the perfect portrait of the anxious, supportive boyfriend at a qualifying competition. The woman to his right gave him a sympathetic smile. With her gray hair, calm smile and big purse, she was the perfect portrait of the sweet, proud grandmother at a qualifying competition.

The minutes dragged, each performance blended with the next and he was counting down the number of skaters until Anastasia. Three, Carmen, Two, My Fair Lady, One, Vivaldi. The last score was announced.

“Anastasia Romanova”, said a mellow voice through the speakers, followed by an ovation that died down slowly when no skater stepped into the ice. Dmitry’s stomach knotted and that ominous feeling that had been growing since the little hours of the morning settled on his chest, heavy, not letting him breathe. The crowd was restless, trying to look down and murmuring incessantly. The grey-haired woman was talking on her phone, the cadence of her frantic French made him more anxious.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a fifteen minute intermission”, even the mellow voice sounded nervous to Dmitry. They were buying time, he realized.

“Excuse me, I need to go downstairs!” demanded the grey-haired woman.

Seeing an opportunity to find out what was going on, Dmitry stood up immediately and offered his arm. He walked her downstairs, his ears pricked up to any communication between the staffers. Where was Anastasia?

“Lily!” the woman called at one of the coaches.  Anastasia’s coach. The gears in Dmitry’s head started turning.

“She called hours ago to let me know they were running late but I’ve been calling and now she won’t pick up”, the coach sounded on the verge of tears. “I’ve tried all the sisters, Nikolai, Alexandra, even Alexei. Nothing. I did not want you to worry…”

“But I _am_ worried” the grandmother enunciated slowly, the hand that was still holding Dmitry’s arm pressed hard, claw-like. She sat down on the closest bench, looking much older than when she had smiled at him a couple of hours ago.

“Thank you, boy”, she said, letting go of his arm and putting on a calm facade.

Dmitry racked his brain for an excuse to stay there until they found out where the Romanovs were. “If you need anything, madam…”

“You are very kind. You should go find your lady friend, she must be looking for you”, she gestured to the flower bouquet that Dmitry was still holding.

He nodded.

~

Vlad found him hours later, staring at the ice from afar.

“What a mess”, said Vlad, plopping on the seat next to him. “The defending champion disappears, there was a tie for second place and someone skated to a Taylor Swift medley?”

“All true”, confirmed Dmitry. He looked vacant, unreachable.

“I always miss the best competitions”, sighed Vlad.

“Yeah…” When the buzz died down, the winners were announced and people left. Dmitry had spent the past couple of hours asking around; no one seemed to know what had happened to Anastasia. He suddenly remembered…

“Vlad? Your Lily, is she a coach too?”

“I think so, I haven’t seen her in, well, fifteen years” he said slowly, lost in his memories. “Why?”

“She was here too”, said Dmitry quietly.

~

Two days later, back home in Saint Petersburg, the news broke. Every newspaper showed different angles of the same dreadful car crash. The shiny limousine, pride of the ambassador Nikolai Romanov, crumbled to what looked like wrinkled carbon copy paper. The ambassador had questionable policies and powerful enemies. Rumors rose immediately; rumors of mobsters running them off the road, rumors of Alexandra’s lover getting too possessive, rumors of Nikolai’s mental health. Seven bodies were recovered.

“They had it coming”, said Gleb matter-of-factly, as he adjusted the laces of his skates in the locker room.

Dmitry had never liked him. His slick back hair and affected voice gave him the air of a villain.

“Well, now that the ice-princess is dead you have a shot at the Olympics”, he added, smarmy, trying to charm the girl next to him.

Dmitry punched him.

~

“Sometimes you’re just an idiot”, said Vlad, throwing a bag of frozen peas at him. Dmitry put it over his jaw. His nose had stopped bleeding but he could still feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

“I know”.

Dmitry wasn’t thinking of Gleb’s black eye and his threats of a lawsuit. He was thinking of the tiny flower bouquet he had left at the ice rink in Moscow. He was thinking of a little girl in a glittery pink dress, a memory from what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Dmitry let out a heavy sigh. He was nineteen and already losing faith in his childhood dream.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got /dark/ real fast. I do apologize.
> 
> PS: Dmitry skated to Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've Fallen In Love) by Pete Yorn. The Shrek 2 version. Fight me.


	3. In My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She woke up on a hard bed, dull ache on the soles of her feet and throbbing pain on her head. She should be elsewhere, she knew that much, but could not place where or with whom.

“Help them, please, help them”, it was a useless whisper in the middle of the woods. She had been walking for too long, she couldn’t see where she was going anymore, and everything was distorted and red. She tripped on the root of a tree and realized she couldn’t get up again. She was too cold, so cold that the fresh snow falling felt like a warm blanket.

“Help them, please”.

~

She woke up on a hard bed, dull ache on the soles of her feet and throbbing pain on her head. She should be elsewhere, she knew that much, but could not place where or with whom. Her eyelids felt heavy; most of her body felt heavy, in fact. She struggled in vain to sit up and when she tried to speak up her mouth felt like it was made of sand.

“It’s okay, little one, it’s okay”, a woman of forty-something sat on the bed and took her hand. The woman had a kind, round face and a faint French accent. “We are going to take care of you”.

~

She was scared and tired, her sleep was restless. In that half-conscious state, she started collecting bits and pieces of what was being said around her. She was at a convent. She had been found in the woods, covered in snow, with no phone and no ID, wearing a tracksuit smeared with blood. The round-faced woman with the accent, Mother Lourdes as the others called her, changed her bandages periodically, talked to her in a soothing voice and sang her French lullabies when the pain was bad.

~

“What’s your name, little one? What happened to you?” Mother Lourdes had asked her the same questions every day since she had woken up, waiting patiently.

“I don’t know”, she replied everytime. Trying to remember left her feeling hollow and desperate. The nuns had asked discreetly about runaway teens and missing young girls in neighboring towns with no success. They had no idea where she had come from; when they found her, the soles of her feet were destroyed from hours and hours of walking and her tracks were covered with snow.

“I brought you a little gift”, said Mother Lourdes, looking around with mock stealth before revealing her surprise. It was a keychain with two pendants and one key. The bigger pendant was a stylized letter “A”, covered in rhinestones. The smaller one was a simple medallion engraved with the phrase _Together in Paris._ She examined them closely, not sure what she was supposed to make of them.

“Nothing?” Mother Lourdes looked expectantly but was met with an embarrassed shrug. “You had it in your pocket when we found you; I thought it would help. Don’t you remember anything from Paris?”

“I don’t. I’m sorry”, she felt like crying but the pain around her wound made her wince and swallow her tears. The ugly gash on the right side of her head was healing slowly and the skin around it was still tender. The cut curved down the side of her skull, crossing her temple and ending at her cheekbone.

“Hey, it’s okay”, Mother Lourdes fixed the hair around her bandages with great care; the nun had apologized multiple times about having to cut it to stitch her wound. “Did I tell you I was a nurse before I took my vows?”

“I assumed”, her voice was little more than a whisper.

“I was. Some of the girls change their names when they take their vows because who you were is not as important as who you will become”.

“I like that”, she said with a shy smile.

“I thought you would. You could choose a name for yourself. I can’t keep calling you “little one” forever”.

Being called “little one” by Mother Lourdes - with her big arms and protective manner - was endearing and it almost felt right. However, not everyone in the convent was so kind, she had overheard voices calling her “the stray”, like a dog. Although she had been there for weeks, she had put off any decision related to her identity and her past, hoping that she would remember with time. She fidgeted with the keychain, picking at the rhinestones, silent for a long while.

“Anya sounds nice”, she said at last.

~

Weeks turned to months and, as she healed, Anya settled in the life of the convent quite easily. She couldn’t cook but she helped with the cleaning and the upkeep of their small garden, she went on long walks in the afternoon, and she attended evening prayers. The peaceful environment and hushed voices felt healing to her, especially compared to her terrifying nightmares and eerie dreams that left her with that same hollowness that haunted her whenever she tried to remember her past. She woke up feeling undone and empty every day; she put on her hand-me-down clothes like armor, she put on her wool hat to stop the world from seeing how broken her head was.

~

~

~

Anya was in a bad mood; she had spent half of her morning being pestered about taking her vows already by some of the novices. They had a point, she thought bitterly. It was her fourth spring in the convent and she showed no signs of committing or leaving for good. She went to look for Mother Lourdes, finding her in the room they shared, humming and packing a small suitcase.

“They’re sending me to Poland, little one”, Mother Lourdes gave her a sad smile.

Anya plopped on her bed and sighed.

“For how long?”

“Three years, maybe longer. You know how it is”, she pointed to the ceiling mockingly and winked at her, trying to make light of the situation. “I can talk with the Mother Superior to ensure your place here, if that’s what you want”.

Anya shrugged. The convent was a calm place where nothing happened, she was safe but she didn’t feel at home. The keychain in her pocket, heavy with promises of love and a home in Paris, reminded her constantly of the life she was robbed of.

“So that’s a no”, Mother Lourdes laughed. “You can still come with me to Petersburg; my plane leaves from there. We can take the train”.

Anya’s face lit up.

“I would love that!”

~

Two days later, after hugging Mother Lourdes goodbye at the airport, with all her belongings stuffed inside a tiny backpack, Anya decided to stay in Saint Petersburg.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this chapter, I'm sorry if it's a little bit wonky. Next chapter is full-on Petersburg, back with Dmitry and Vlad and their fun shenanigans ;)
> 
> PS: Do you guys know of any musicals that have parallels with Dimya? I can only think of Beauty and the Beast (Something There is VERY them) and She Loves Me. I'd love some suggestions, please and thank you <3


	4. A Rumor in St Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There, on the ice, was a young woman skating. Her head was covered in a ratty hat, she wore clothes that were too big for her, and her stance was a round-shouldered slouch. Still, there was an undeniable beauty to the way she skated. Dmitry was stunned.

Dmitry sat on the floor, his back pressed to the wall. He had just finished practice; the exhaustion of his limbs didn't match the nervousness on his face.

"There you are, Dmitry!" Vlad called out to him from across the locker room.

"Hey, Vlad" Dmitry greeted him half-heartedly.

"What's wrong?" With some effort, Vlad bent down and sat next to him. "Is this about Nationals? Fifth place is not that bad, cheer up".

"Fifth place, three years in a row? I'd say that's not ideal for a twenty-two year old, not even the Russian federation cares about a skater as old as me", Dmitry laughed bitterly. "But no, that's not it. My sponsorship is done. We're back to working part-time jobs and selling contraband".

A year ago, they had finally secured a sponsorship from a small sportswear company. The money was not much but it had been enough to maintain his skating career. Up to that point, they had been living in survival mode; stealing, selling, bartering, working… All for the upkeep of their dream of success and leaving Russia.

"They are dropping you because of that fifth place? That wasn't even your fault! The judges were bought!" Vlad started getting winded and defensive. Dmitry looked at him and smiled. With his dad gone, Vlad was the closest thing he had to a father -or an eccentric uncle. He felt fortunate, having someone to worry about his well-being, someone he trusted.

"Calm down. If anyone's to blame, it's Gleb. And me. But mostly Gleb."

"I don't get it".

"With the judging fiasco at Nationals, Gleb's score was barely one point above mine; he got it in his head that I was a threat. He said he’s going to ruin my reputation in whatever way he can, make me sound like a bad investment to any sponsor." Dmitry shook his head; sometimes he felt sorry for Gleb. His father was a military type that demanded excellence of his son, often at the expense of Gleb's health and sanity; father and son shared ideals of ambition and manipulation. "He's got dirt on me, Vlad".

"Shit." Vlad's face dropped. "How bad is it?"

"He found out about Andrei. I don't know how." Dmitry's voice let out a tinge of anger and despair. "He doesn’t even have photos or texts, rumors are enough. Half of Saint Petersburg knows by now."

Andrei was a singles skater from Penza, he and Dmitry had met two summers ago during a high performance skating camp. Their easy chemistry, banter and camaraderie quickly turned into an earnest summer fling: Hasty kisses in empty hallways, stolen glances across the ice rink, and escapades to watch the sun rise, holding each other close. They whispered their “I love you”s knowing they would probably never meet again.

"I've called Andrei, he's ready to deny everything and says he'll be fine but it's too late for me, I'm afraid."

“I’m sorry, my boy”, Vlad put an arm around his shoulders and shook him awkwardly. Dmitry’s heartbroken smile made him look soft and child-like. Right on cue, his phone vibrated to announce an email from the sponsor.

 _Mr Dmitry Sudayev,  
_ _We regret to inform you that, in an effort to preserve the traditional values of our family-owned company, we will be ending your term as our sponsee.  
_ _You are required to return any of the company’s material, documents or equipment to which you had access. As with all sponsees, you are bound by our confidentiality and data protection policies…_

 The two friends stayed like that, sat down on the floor, in silence. Eventually, Dmitry’s sadness made way for fierce determination.

“Well, none of it matters now. We need to come up with a plan, Vlad”.

~

At seven thirty in the evening, Anya woke up to the muted sound of the Zamboni, a thin coat of cold sweat on her brow and the usual hoarseness in her voice. She was used to it by now; her terrible nightmares followed her everywhere and there was nobody to sing her French lullabies now.

Anya uncurled herself and stood up, her spine and knees cracked loudly. Even her tiny frame was too big for the cot she slept in. Still, it was better than sleeping in the woods or under a bridge. Anya had taken the job as janitor of the ice rink precisely for that reason. Waiting tables or working as a maid paid better, but not enough to get a place to live in and save money to go to Paris. The storage-room-turned-apartament contained all her belongings: her keychain, an old mirror, a couple of books she had brought from the convent, and a slowly growing pile of ill-fitting clothing. It wasn't home but it was enough for now.

As the sound of the Zamboni died down, she put on sweatpants and a fleece hoodie, getting ready for her shift. She looked in the mirror for a moment, inspecting the right side of her head. Her scar was barely noticeable in the darkness of her room. However, the white line on her scalp where no hair grew made her self-conscious in a way that had little to do with vanity; she felt that if someone saw the cracks on her skull they would also see her broken brain and useless memory. She covered her jaw-length hair with a beanie and left her room.

Every night followed the same routine, cleaning the cafeteria, the locker rooms, the small gym and the ballet room. It was tedious and too much work for one person alone but Anya had grown to appreciate the unexpected perks of the job: she never went hungry thanks to certain forgetful skaters that left their lunches in the fridge, she could keep the stuff nobody claimed from the lost and found, and she could skate.

Skating was something she didn't remember she could do but, when she found a barely used pair of skates in the trash bin, curiosity got the best of her. Now, every time she finished early, she skated. It was a process; her muscle memory remembered what to do but she was hesitant to comply at first. Her feet guided her across the ice and her legs urged her to jump in the air. It felt right, that at least a fraction of her knew what to do and how.

At four thirty in the morning, she left the ice, took a shower, opened the rink, had breakfast in a café nearby, walked along the streets to see the city wake up, and retreated back to the storage room. Getting ready for bed, she brushed her hair and put on an oversized t-shirt from a band she didn't know. It was a quiet and lonely existence but she took solace in the thought that this was only temporary. She would soon have enough money for papers and tickets to Paris.

~

Vlad sat on one of the cafeteria tables, his old laptop and a messy pile of papers in front of him. He had a manic, sleep deprived look about him.

"Oh, thank God" he said when Dmitry sat in front of him. "Please distract me. I've been reading on every grant and sponsorship contract under the sun and I think I might be losing it. I'd kill for some celebrity gossip right now"

"I don't have celebrity gossip but I have an update on our favorite urban legend", Dmitry smirked in between sips of Gatorade.

"The ice-rink ghost is back at it?" Vlad's face lit up, child-like.

"Oh, yeah. He's back with a vengeance". For weeks, the ice-rink had been abuzz with crazy stories and conspiracy theories about the existence of a ghost in the premises. Muffled screams, mysterious markings on the ice and regular electrical malfunctions were all attributed to the spirit. As the days went by, the accounts became more ridiculous; Vlad and Dmitry were very amused by the outlandishness of it all. “So, yesterday, Natasha decided to leave “an offering” of strawberry yogurt and stroganoff for the ghost. The yogurt’s gone but the stroganoff remains untouched in the fridge. She’s worried the ghost was offended by the stroganoff and is now setting up a shrine made of yogurt cups in the cafeteria”.

“This just keeps getting better”, Vlad laughed heartily.

“I really want to meet whoever is behind this whole mess, the guy's a genius".

"Maybe he'd be able to solve this", Vlad gestured towards the papers on the table. "I've emailed every possible sponsor and haven't heard back from anybody. All my hopes are with this foundation", Vlad handed the brochure to Dmitry, the young man shrugged.

"You know I don't understand French, Vlad", he seemed a little offended.

"Yes, I know. But you'll certainly recognize the nice lady in the back", he said, turning the brochure to reveal the photograph of Maria Feodorovna, Anastasia's grandmother. "Her foundation supports Russian skaters and pays for their training in France. This is our way out, boy!"

Dmitry hadn't seen him this excited about anything in ages, he couldn't deny it sounded promising. They dialed the number on the brochure right away.

"MF Foundation", a female voice with a French accent answered.

"Hello, my name's Dmitry Sudayev. I'm a singles skater interested in an interview for financial aid from your foundation." 

"I'm sorry, Mr Sudayev, this foundation provides aid to Russian female skaters only, in remembrance of the late Anastasia Romanova", the voice replied flatly. Dmitry felt like he was being attacked on two fronts: first with the memory of the girl he had admired most, and then with the last bit of hope he had being taken from him. He wasn't going to let that happen.

"Yes, I knew that", he said with as much confidence as he could muster, searching for loopholes as he spoke. "Uh... The thing is that I'm transferring from singles to pairs with a very promising local skater. She's new to competitive skating so I thought I'd arrange the interview on her behalf."

Across the table, Vlad was staring at him, wide-eyed. 

"If that's the case, we will send you some forms to fill and a tentative date for your interview here in Paris. The evaluation also includes the participation of your team, be it pairs or ice dance, in the annual gala from our foundation next December. It's right in the middle of the 2018-2019 season, so you are expected to present a short program, a free program and an exhibition program." 

Dmitry gulped. It was not enough time to get money to travel to Paris, let alone prepare three programs with a partner he didn't have.

"Yes, of course", he answered.

~

"What were you thinking?" Vlad kept that incredulous look on his face, even as he put up "Skating Partner Wanted" flyers on the notice board.

"This is the last chance we've got", Dmitry said matter-of-factly. He knew he was right.

~

Later that week, the auditions for a partner proved to be a major disappointment. Most of the girls that showed up couldn't keep up with Dmitry's pace. Some could skate alright but were lightyears away from competitive level. One of them literally didn't know how to skate. 

"Well that was a waste of time", Vlad said, waving a list with every candidate's name crossed out. 

"There's a girl perfect for this, we’ll find her ", Dmitry was surprisingly optimistic.

"I do hope you're right", Vlad sighed.

For the first time in a long time, Dmitry felt like he had a clear path ahead of him. It was cemented on rash decisions and reckless behavior but he was his father’s son, he was nothing if not brave. Eager as he was he had trouble sleeping; at four in the morning he finally gave up and instead persuaded Vlad to go back to the rink for early morning practice.

With a stolen copy of the key, they let themselves inside. There, on the ice, was a young woman skating. Her head was covered in a ratty hat, she wore clothes that were too big for her, and her stance was a round-shouldered slouch. Still, there was an undeniable beauty to the way she skated.  Dmitry was stunned.

“Vlad, do you see what I see?”

“What?” Vlad was too busy sipping coffee. Dmitry pointed at the girl on the ice and Vlad gasped. “Is she waltzing?”

~

Anya was humming and dancing, as she jumped and swirled midair, she almost felt happy. She realized she had lost track of time when she saw the two men in the stands. She didn’t know if she was in trouble but she didn’t want to find out either so she left the ice as quickly as she could.

“Stop! Stop!” The younger man called out and ran towards her, she tried to run away but her feet were still trapped in the skates. He was in front of her before she knew it and, even with her skates on, he was a full head taller than she was. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“I’m Anya. I work here”, Anya eyed him suspiciously but her tone was conciliatory. “Look, it won’t happen again, just… I cannot lose this job”.

“No need to worry, child. You were skating beautifully”, the older man had finally caught up with them and extended his hand. “My name is Vlad Popov, this is Dmitry”

“You are Dmitry?” Anya’s uncertainty turned to concealed enthusiasm. “I have heard about you, do you still sell travel papers?”

“I guess it depends”, Dmitry had learned to play aloof whenever he was in the middle of some illegal transaction.

“I need a passport, to go to Paris”, she smiled shyly.

“You want to go to Paris!” Dmitry and Vlad beamed, this was too perfect. They exchanged a mischievous look and knew instantly they had the same idea.

“So Anya… Sorry, I didn’t catch your last name”, Dmitry looked at her with curiosity.

“Yeah… No last name. That’s why I need the fake passport”, Anya adjusted her hat, suddenly feeling exposed. “I’m not a criminal or anything, I just don’t know. Some nuns found me in the woods and took care of me. I can’t remember anything before that…” The two men were staring intently at her, she stared back defiantly. “Can you help me or not?”

“Look, Anya, we’re in the middle of a professional crisis”, started Dmitry with his bartering voice. “My skating career is cursed and the only way we can save it is if we find a partner to compete with me. She has to be good enough to impress Maria Feodorovna…”

“Not an easy task”, interjected Vlad.

“But maybe you’re up for it. Good news is, if we succeed, the three of us go to Paris and stay there for good” Dmitry looked expectantly at her.

“Me? Competitive skating? Are you high?” she raised her voice in exasperation, sat down and started unlacing her skates. She didn’t need anyone getting her hopes up in vain.

“We held auditions last night. Not one of the girls could do what you did on the ice!” Dmitry raised his voice to match Anya’s, she didn’t seem moved.

“Darling, listen”, Vlad said softly. “I’ve been a coach for well over twenty years and the kind of talent you have shouldn’t go to waste. It’s precious. Haven’t you ever thought about it?”

“Skating for a living?” Anya looked dumbstruck. She hadn’t really thought about it but she couldn’t deny she was at her happiest when she was on the ice. “I don’t know, it’s hard to imagine that and then go back to sleeping in a storage room. But yes, I guess it would be nice”.

“Help us and we help you?” Vlad gave her his sweetest, most fatherly smile.

“What would I need to do?”

~

The three of them were sitting in the cafeteria, in front of Vlad’s old laptop, eating some left-over yogurt from the ghost shrine. They had been going over the basic rules of pairs skating. Anya was still unsatisfied with their vague explanations and napkin diagrams, so she demanded to see a video.

She liked it at first. The couple glided across the ice, doing jumps in near unison. When the man lifted his partner above his head and turned, Anya shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Then he threw his partner in the air, like a rag doll, and Anya counted three rotations before she landed on one leg.

“Hell, no!” Anya dropped her spoon, got up and shook her head vigorously. “I’m not doing that. No”.

Dmitry was about to complain when Vlad put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“So throw jumps are out of the question, that’s okay”, Vlad’s tone was soothing. “What about ice dance?”

“Ice dance?!” Dmitry protested.

“Shush”, Vlad looked at him warningly and slapped the top of his head a bunch of napkins. Vlad set up a video for Anya to watch and she went back to her seat begrudgingly.

It captivated her right away. Mixed in between the twizzles and lifts there was something enchanting. The way the couple danced made her yearn for a feeling she didn’t know she remembered: playing make believe with someone you cared for. It was like setting up a play with your siblings in the living room. Beautiful.

“Okay. I’m in”, Anya said.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This behemoth of a chapter got out of hand. It's literally as long as the other three chapters combined. I do hope you enjoy it, it's been a joy to write it.
> 
> PS: Thank you to everyone who recommended songs on the last chapter, you've all been super helpful and sweet (btw, I've watched Newsies, it's amazing and I love it. I still have to watch Guys and Dolls and Music Man).  
> I'm in the process of building a [ Dimya showtune playlist ](http://open.spotify.com/user/aralisj/playlist/7F15txKL9EvSLx9vHB6CSu?si=1ADvKvs9Qg6HD_1ca1KRYQ) if anyone's interested <3


	5. Learn To Do It pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the ice, what Anya lacked in elegance she made up for in energy and power. Off the ice, she just stomped and flailed helplessly.

The next day Vlad and Dmitry met Anya at the rink early in the morning; she had her skates on already, impatient to begin training. Vlad suggested they started with the basics and build up from there. That meant doing laps holding hands and then going over the waltz. Anya adjusted her hat and offered her gloved hand to Dmitry, practically dragging him. This colored their whole interaction on the ice: Anya kept trying to lead, which only brought Dmitry’s competitive streak up to the surface. Before long, they were racing each other.

“You two! Come here!” Vlad shouted from the boards. “You have to skate together not against each other! I can’t believe that I have to explain that to you. No more laps. Let’s see the waltz.”

Dmitry moved awkwardly towards Anya, placing his right hand on her waist and offering the other hand for her to take. The whole thing felt wrong; he was too tall, or maybe she was too short. He slouched to hold her, she shifted uncomfortably in his grasp. He kept looking away from her face, doing mental counts; she kept checking behind her back, afraid of crashing while Dmitry was leading them across the ice.

“Backs straight!” Vlad yelled. “Eyes front, Anya! Dmitry, what are you doing? That’s not the waltz.”

After some painful minutes of berating, Vlad gave up. He called them back to the boards and out of the ice.

“Just… Just… No. Take your skates off, you two are banned from the ice until we fix this”, he said motioning in their general direction.

“Fix what?” Dmitry was aggressively putting the guards on his skates. “I’m a fine skater by myself! She won’t let me lead, that’s the problem here!”

“I’m the problem?!” Anya had taken her skates off. In her socks, her eye level barely reached his chest. Still, she managed to look menacing as she shouted at him, pressing her index finger to his sternum. “You can’t keep a three-count to save your life!”

“We are not doing this. No.” Vlad looked sternly at both. “Meet me in the ballet room in ten minutes. And calm down!”

~

Vlad was waiting for them with two books in hand. He threw the bigger one to Dmitry and gave the other one to Anya.

“Perhaps it was too ambitious to start dancing right away. Let’s start with walking”.

“I’ve been taking ballet for years, Vlad. I don’t need this”, Dmitry groaned.

“Then why were you slouching back there?” Vlad looked at him over his glasses. “There’s always room for improvement. Anya, put the book on your head and start walking around.”

Anya had taken her gloves and hoodie off and was now trying to balance the book on her beanie.

“Take the hat off”, Dmitry advised when he walked past her; he had no difficulty keeping the book atop his head.

“It stays on”, she replied and after struggling for a few more moments, she started moving around slowly, waving her arms around to keep balance.

“You look like you’re trying too hard. Try to float, Anya”, Vlad walked next to her, demonstrating.

“Am I floating yet?” On the ice, what Anya lacked in elegance she made up for in energy and power. Off the ice, she just stomped and flailed helplessly.

“Like a sinking boat”, Dmitry muttered loud enough for her to hear. She threw the book in his direction, missing him by inches. Sensing conflict, Vlad stood between then and took Dmitry’s book off of his hands.

“How about we learn to bow?” Vlad took their wrists and pulled them until they were in a dance hold. Anya’s fingers were in Dmitry’s grip, like he was about to kiss her hand, though nothing seemed so far from reality at that moment.

“Your hands are freezing!” Anya protested.

“Well, your hands are dry but you don’t hear me complaining”, Dmitry retorted. He was getting exasperated at the lack of progress they were making.

“Enough!” Vlad looked like he was about to pop a vein. “Try to be civil, for my sake. We’re doing some visualization, yes? Close your eyes, both of you”.

They closed their eyes, still tense, but not fighting anymore, which was a small achievement in itself.

“Picture this”, Vlad’s tone was soothing once again. “You’ve just finished your free dance program, you’re happy and proud. You trust the person next to you and you are thankful”, at that both Anya and Dmitry snorted. “ _You trust the person next to you and you are thankful_ ”, Vlad accentuated every syllable. “You can hear your heart pounding and you’re out of breath but it’s fine, the program is over and everyone in the stands is clapping. You turn to face the judges knowing you couldn’t have danced better”.

Anya could see it all so clearly, so vivid that it didn’t feel like she was imagining it. She could feel the sweat on the nape of her neck, she could hear the buzz of the blinding lights above her, and she could feel the waves of applause ripple through her. Before she knew it, she was bending her left knee, bringing her right hand to her chest, bowing her head, a wide smile on her face. When she stood up, she didn’t feel like herself; she felt luminous, regal and delicate. She opened her eyes to find Vlad and Dmitry, gobsmacked.

“Was that okay?” Anya smiled brightly.

“Yes… Yes… Now, Dmitry, twirl her once, and turn to the other side. Bow again”, in that moment Vlad could see it, the two of them dancing together, winning even. “See? You’re great at this!”

~

Vlad dismissed them hours later, the three of them were tired of menial exercises and of each other’s company.

“I’m retiring after this season, Vlad, I’m done”, Dmitry had said in anger when he thought Anya wasn’t paying attention. “We need more than a nice bow to get to Paris, and you know it.”

Anya sat in a bench that looked towards the gym where Dmitry was now punching a sandbag. He had not taken their ban from the ice all that well. Vlad sat next to her.

“I’m trying. I swear I am”, she said softly.

“You did well today, darling”, he gave her a sweet smile that warmed her heart.

“You are so nice, a proper gentleman. Dmitry’s not so nice, I think he doesn’t like me at all”, Anya said flatly.

“Give him time. He’s had it rough, more than most”, Vlad had a sad look about him that made her believe him.

~

Anya was late. It had been happening for days, long enough that Vlad and Dmitry were already expecting it and were lounging while they waited.

“I’m so sorry”, she said as she approached them. She looked drained and pale.

“Are you alright, child?” Vlad asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine” she said, suppressing a yawn. “I just overslept, I’m sorry”.

Vlad looked at her intently for a moment before resolving to go on anyway.

“Well, the ballet room is not free today and I have to figure out the technical elements for your programs so I decided you kids could do something fun… Why don’t you walk around the city? You can go wherever you want, I don’t care. Only rules are you have to be in a dance hold the whole time and you have to keep your pace in sync.”

“Fine by me”, Dmitry said blandly.

“Fine”, Anya replied.

 “Perfect. Now, go! And don’t come back until you can walk in unison”, Vlad gestured towards the door.

Anya and Dmitry walked side by side, averting the other’s gaze. For all the time they spent together they showed no signs of getting along any better than the first day of training. When they got to the door, Dmitry offered his hand and Anya took it reluctantly. The dance hold they had been doing worked fine for ballroom dancing but it felt odd while they walked down the street.

“I feel stupid”, said Anya in a low voice. “It looks like you’re escorting the local beggar to the ball”.  After walking a couple of blocks like that, Anya struggled out of the dance hold and took Dmitry’s hand palm in palm, like a couple.

“That’s cheating”, said Dmitry.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal”, he squeezed her hand gently. He didn’t lie when he said her hands were dry; they were full of callouses. Small and tough like Anya herself. He couldn’t decide if he felt protective or afraid of her. In his reverie he started walking with his usual stride, leaving Anya behind.

“You have to slow down, your legs are too long!” Anya struggled to catch up. When he turned to look at her there was something in her eyes that made his heart hurt, like he was missing a place he had never gone to or a friend he had never met.

“Is that a compliment?” Dmitry asked tentatively.

“It’s not. It’s a fact. You’re too tall”, she kept her voice level but she couldn’t help the blush on her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself”.

“I don’t need to”, he flashed her a flirtatious smile. Anya rolled her eyes and laughed, she couldn’t believe this cocky idiot was winning her over so fast. Without realizing it, they were finally walking in unison.

The sun was high when they decided to walk back to the rink. At some point they had let go of their hands, now Dmitry’s palm rested leisurely on Anya’s waist, guiding her through cramped streets, pulling her close when it became too crowded.

Vlad almost fell off his chair when he saw them walk through the door, smiling at each other, Anya pressed to Dmitry’s side.

~

The following days of training were considerably easier on both of them. Now that their animosity had melted, their incessant banter was the only thing that slowed them down. They were perfecting the waltz, hoping that Vlad would finally lift their ban and let them skate again. They glided across the room, every day more comfortable being in each other’s arms. Anya clung to Dmitry’s neck while he made them spin around. His hand pressed on her back reminded her to stand straight, while the gentle tap of her fingers helped him stay on time with the music. They seemed miles away from being able to portray romance believably but Vlad said they were on the right track. They finally felt like a team and not random strangers that had collided on the dancefloor.

“I feel dizzy”, said Anya. They had been dancing for a couple of hours.

“You have to look at a fixed spot when we turn.”

“No, that’s not it. Can we stop? I don’t feel well”, Dmitry stopped and looked at her; she was paler than usual and her hands were cold. He helped her to a chair and offered her a sip from his water bottle as he kneeled in front of her, eyes full of worry.

“Did you have breakfast today?”

“Yes”, her voice was barely a whisper; she kept her eyes closed as she massaged her temples. Dmitry noticed the bags under her eyes, darker than he remembered. Suddenly everything made sense: her tardiness, her suppressed yawns…

“How much sleep have you been getting?”

“Three or four hours.”

“Are you insane?” Dmitry kept his voice level, making the accusation that much harsher.

“I told you, I cannot lose the job at the rink. You are not paying me to skate with you. What was I supposed to do?”

“We’ve been training, eight hours a day for _weeks_! And you _kept_ your full time job?” Dmitry started to feel the guilt building in his chest. This girl was falling apart because of them.

“Can we do this later? My head is killing me”, Anya had a tortured expression on her face; her eyes were half-closed closed as the fluorescent light brought pangs of pain.

“Sure”, she looked like she was about to faint from exhaustion. “I’ll walk you to you room”.

He held her by the waist as they walked. Anya opened the door to the storage room and fell blindly on her cot. Dmitry was taken aback; he had never seen her room from the inside: it was damp and cramped. Anya was already asleep on the floor, looking vulnerable and tiny. He felt suddenly protective of this girl who was so much stronger than she appeared. She deserved much better than this.

~

When Anya woke up the next day, it was late morning and her dizziness was gone. She got up to find Dmitry in the cafeteria; he had bought her breakfast and was waiting for her.

“I’m sorry, Anya.”

“You didn’t know, it’s fine”, she said in between bites of croissant.

“It’s not. We’re supposed to be a team and take care of each other and all those sappy things Vlad keeps saying every day in practice.”

Anya knew he was right and she also knew that this was half her fault for not trusting him. She was so used to being by herself that she didn’t even consider an alternative.

“Look, Dmitry, if I quit, I’m penniless and homeless. I didn’t want to be a pity case for you and Vlad. I still don’t.”

“It’s not like that, you’re helping us, remember? Let us help you”, Dmitry’s face was open and apologetic and it disarmed Anya.

“Okay, let’s say I quit and I work part time or weekends or something. Where am I going to live?”

Dmitry smiled.

“With me, of course.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sorry


	6. Learn To Do It pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wondered for the umpteenth time if living with Dmitry was a mistake. If their time together as skating partners was anything to go by, the two of them were not suited to live together at all. They were too argumentative, too temperamental, too similar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The requirements for the Rhythm Dance are the actual ISU guidelines for Ice Dance for the 2019-2020 season and I couldn’t resist. Also, I’ve added fluff to the tags because there’s no denying it now. These beautiful kids are craving affection and I’m trying my damnedest to deliver. Writing this chapter has been therapeutic during a Real Tough™ month; I hope you enjoy it.

Dmitry's apartment was bare and dusty. The walls were empty, the furniture was old and the rooms didn't look lived-in at all.

"Make yourself at home, Anya", he said, helping her carry the two garbage bags that contained all her stuff.

"Thank you", she replied quietly. It didn't feel like a home.

"I don't spend that much time here", he added, grimacing apologetically when a cloud of dust rose around the bags he had just dropped on the floor.

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell, it feels so warm and welcoming", she remarked absentmindedly.

"Don't be sassy to the landlord".

Anya shrugged and walked around.

"So, this is you", Dmitry said opening the door to the bedroom. It had a small window, a chair and a bed. "That's the bathroom. I’ll sleep on the couch."

Everything was compact and it made Dmitry claustrophobic. He spent as much time as he could skating at the rink or working at the bar two blocks away just to avoid the feeling of the walls closing in on him. With his father dead, this place was no longer a safe haven but a sore reminder of how their time together was cut short.

"I have to go to work but I'll come back later", he took her hand and pulled her towards the window that overlooked the rugged street downstairs and pointed to the end of it. "The bar is turning left on that corner, okay?" Anya nodded and rolled her eyes. At-home-Dmitry was exhausting; so preoccupied, so irritating.

"I'll be fine, Dmitry. I have amnesia not pyromania" she retorted.

"You're a piece of work", he said with exasperation.

~

Anya spent the rest of the afternoon settling in the apartment, cleaning a bit and snooping around. The kitchen seemed like the room Dmitry spent most of his time in; it had the basics and then some weirdly specific ingredients that made her believe he probably knew how to cook. The bathroom was simple and old but still functional; she was relieved to see the rusty faucet still poured hot water.

Standing under the shower, she wondered for the umpteenth time if this, her living with Dmitry, was a mistake. If their time together as skating partners was anything to go by, the two of them were not suited to live together at all. They were too argumentative, too temperamental, too similar. Anya stepped out of the shower and brushed her hair, imagining she was detangling the doubt out with every stroke of the brush. Making their partnership work was the only way she could get to Paris and, admittedly, Dmitry had some redeeming qualities. He was earnest and bright. He also had this new streak of protectiveness that Anya found equally annoying and endearing.

Walking around the apartment, she saw some cardboard boxes next to the couch, the one at the top had the flaps open and Anya looked inside. It was full of thrift shop clothes, CDs, and skating gear. Tucked carefully into one corner of the box was a faded photograph of a couple, Anya sat on the floor and examined it closely. There was no denying these were Dmitry’s parents; she had the brown hair and brown eyes, he had the broad shoulders and slender build. With a pang of guilt, Anya realized he had never thought about Dmitry’s family. All this time, she assumed he had a mother, a father and four siblings waiting for him, probably in a farm close to the Neva, and that he had not talked about them for her sake. She put the photograph back in its place and walked to her room.

She laid down, her hair still damp and her mind restless; the pillowcase she propped her head on smelled of Dmitry’s shampoo. She had met this boy just weeks ago and he was already taking care of her at his expense, sleeping on a couch so that she could sleep on a bed. Maybe he was as lonely as she was.

~

Dmitry got back from work late at night and put the kettle on to make some tea. He was sick of the smell of vodka, beer and salt from the bar. He was idly mixing the tea with a spoon when he heard a sharp cry from the bedroom. He dropped his mug and bolted through the door.

"Anya?!" Dmitry turned the light on and looked around the room, searching for an attacker or maybe a very big spider. Except for Anya, sobbing and trembling on the bed, it was completely empty. "What happened?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine", she managed between sobs. He moved to reach her but she shrunk away from his touch, like he was an open flame. "Don't", her voice was definitive and it made Dmitry retreat back to the door. "I'll be fine, just go".

"Okay. Okay", he said softly, leaving the door ajar and going back to the kitchen to pick up the pieces of the broken mug.

~

"She was there, just crying, Vlad", Dmitry was sitting on the floor of the gym, he had left for the rink before dawn to avoid Anya in the morning. "I didn't know what to do and I tried to comfort her and the way she looked at me... Like she didn’t know me… Maybe living with her was not the best idea".

Vlad studied him, sitting cross-legged, fiddling with his shoelaces, drying the sweat on his brow with the back of his sleeve. Sometimes it was so easy to see in him that wide-eyed, lanky boy he had taken in for training all those years ago.

"You have to understand", Vlad started, patiently, "this isn't about you". Dmitry huffed.

"We're not talking about an unfair score in some skating competition. This is literally about me, living with an unstable girl that hasn’t shared a word about her past with us”.

“Oh, get over yourself, Dmitry!” Vlad rolled his eyes dramatically, ignoring Dmitry’s offended glare. “She’s your partner, not your property. You can’t _make_ her trust you, you have to earn it. We don’t know what her past was like, we don’t know what she’s gone through!”

 “What do you know about anything?” Dmitry dismissed him with a click of his tongue. Vlad smiled; Dmitry’s devil-may-care façade couldn’t fool him; he was a daring skater and a reckless fighter but he was scared too.

“Not much”, Vlad admitted with a shrug, “but enough to tell you that this self-pity act won’t get us to Paris. Come on, it’s getting late”. He got up and gestured towards the ballet room; Dmitry followed him with a sigh.

Anya was already warming up, waiting for them. She looked calm, like nothing had happened the night before.

“You forgot this at home”, she said throwing a water bottle straight at Dmitry’s face. He caught it midair and muttered a bewildered _Thank you_. “What are we doing today?” she looked expectantly at Vlad, then at Dmitry.

“We’re doing lifts. An exercise in trust, if you will” Vlad gave Dmitry a meaningful look that she interpreted as a silent confirmation of Dmitry’s idiocy - the usual. “First, a hip lift. Anya, darling, come here”.

Anya gave her hand to Vlad who guided her through a waltz.

“One, two, three. One, two, three. And turn. One, two, three. Now, on the next turn you pull away, put your left arm on my shoulder and jump a bit”, Anya pulled away an inch and hesitated. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you”, Vlad reassured her with a smile. Anya nodded and jumped, Vlad caught her by the waist. “Lift you right arm, graceful fingers. There”, Vlad lowered Anya carefully and gestured to Dmitry. “That’s as much as I can do with my bad back, I’ll guide you two through the rest”.

Dmitry walked towards Anya slowly; dancing together wasn’t as foreign as it used to be but he found himself nervous again.

“Hey, Vlad, what if I drop her?”

“The floor is padded”, Anya shrugged resolutely as she took his hand, making Vlad snort across the room.

“She’s fearless”, he said proudly. “Now, one, two, three. One, two, three. And turn. One, two, three.  Bend your knees, Dmitry. And lift." In his nervous state, Dmitry felt doubly conscious of every movement leading to the lift: Anya's hand brushing her way from his neck to his shoulder, her waist held tight through layers of fabric in his right hand, the change in the air as they sighed in relief when he lifted her with ease. Unprompted, Dmitry started whirling her around. Anya squealed, feeling the same kind of thrill she got when she jumped on the ice. After a whole turn around the room, he put Anya down. They were both short of breath and flushed, staring, unsure of what to say or do next, and suddenly very aware of their proximity to each other.

"Good! Good!" Vlad's voice brought them back to the present. "That's a start!"

~

They went through a number of variations of the hip lift: with Anya's back pressed to Dmitry's chest, face to face, holding hands... Vlad seemed happily surprised with their progress and was already modifying their program to include more difficult lifts. Days ago, he had informed them that their free dance was going to be Swan Lake.

"It's our safest bet", he reasoned. "Maria Feodorovna loves Tchaikovsky. It has variety, drama, romance!" He convinced Anya at once but Dmitry seemed less enthusiastic. Vlad had reassured him with the promise of letting them choose their own music for the rhythm dance and exhibition programs. Now, true to his word, Vlad arrived with an armful of CDs and DVDs, and placed them in front of Dmitry.

"Homework!" Vlad announced, taking a folded paper out of his breast pocket. " _The theme for this season's rhythm dance is Broadway, Musical, Operetta; the pattern dance sequence must be skated to one of the following rhythms: quickstep, blues, march, polka or foxtrot_ ”, he read solemnly. “There’s plenty to choose from", he said pointing to the messy pile. “Remember you are going to be listening to whatever songs you decide on a loop until December so choose wisely. Good luck!" He laughed heartily and waved them goodbye.

Dmitry started picking up the discs and handing them to Anya.

"So, did you have plans for the rest of the week?"

Anya shook her head with a shy smile.

~

A movie and a half later, they called it a night. Anya was humming as she brushed her teeth. She said goodnight and went to bed.

“Sleep well”, Dmitry replied from the kitchen, an honest wish wrapped in those words along with a bunch of questions he could not bring himself to ask yet.

~

As he had feared, Dmitry woke up at one in the morning to Anya's screams. He got up sleepily and opened her door. The light from the hallway showed her profile, hugging her knees and sobbing quietly.

"Are you okay, Anya?" Dmitry talked gently. If his raging panic from the night before had not helped maybe this approach would. "Can I get you anything?" Anya shook her head. It had been too long since anyone cared about her or her nightmares, she didn't know what to say. “Thank you”? “I'm sorry I woke you”? “Go away, I’m too scared to think right now”? She kept shaking her head until he left. Slowly, she calmed herself, relaxing every muscle until she could lie back down.

When she woke up hours later, she found a glass of water next to her bed. The thought of Dmitry checking in on her in the little hours of the morning loosened the knot in her chest that accompanied her sore throat and dry tears.

~

The following days went by in this semblance of a routine that kept them together: learning lifts, walking home, watching movies, sleeping, waking up to Anya's nightmares, sleeping again, learning lifts again. It felt soothing in a repetitive way, like a nursery rhyme or a bedtime prayer. Inevitably, bits and pieces of the day got mixed up in repetition.

“Men are such babies”, sighed Anya when he claimed she had broken his nose while landing a lift. “Spoiled brat!” complained Dmitry when she announced she had used up all the hot water. “I think I remember this!” squealed Anya when they watched the prologue for _Beauty and the Beast_. “I'm here, you're safe”, whispered Dmitry as he caught her after a particularly difficult lift.

“Men are such babies”, sighed Anya when he cried at the end of _Les Mis_. “Spoiled brat!” complained Dmitry when she took his denim jacket without asking. “I think I remember this!” squealed Anya when they walked by the Winter Palace. “I'm here, you're safe”, whispered Dmitry as he rubbed circles on the back of her hand after a particularly nasty nightmare.

~

"Can you stay a little while longer?" Anya asked softly. It was two in the morning and Dmitry looked tired enough to fall asleep there, sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand. She liked him like that, his brash mask off, his hair tousled, wearing an old Henley shirt and blue sweatpants.

He got up abruptly and left the room. Anya felt her stomach drop; maybe this was where he drew the line. It was his right to leave but still it stung. She sat in a lull until he heard him call from the hallway.

"Anya, come help me!"

She turned the light on to find him dragging the couch to her room.

"You're a dork, you know that, right?" Anya laughed as they maneuvered around her bed.

"Didn't know you liked The Clash", he commented awkwardly, pointing at the shirt she used for sleeping, so big that the hem brushed the top of her knees.

"I don't", she replied simply. She turned off the light and climbed into bed. She felt Dmitry sit down on the couch next to her, the wheels in his head still audibly turning.

"Wait, if you don't like them... Then why would you...? Oh my God! That's my shirt!"

"Probably… It was in the lost and found at the rink and no one claimed it... You can have it back", Anya sighed with resignation, and then quickly added: "Not right now, though." Dmitry laughed.

"You can keep it. It's fine", it was late, his mind was groggy and he could feel sleep claiming him back. His hand found hers miraculously in the dark, their intertwined fingers whispering _I'm here, you're safe._

"Dmitry?" Anya asked tentatively, unsure if he was still awake; his only reply was a muffled groan. "Thank you".

"For what? For the shirt?"

"No, for sleeping here", her voice was barely a whisper.

"Anytime".

~

Dmitry woke up to a cloudy Saturday morning. The sun lit the room, diaphanous, as if through curtains. Anya was still sleeping soundly on the bed next to him. He got up from the couch slowly, careful not to wake her up; he had always been an early riser but she really could use the extra sleep.

He made scrambled eggs, tea and toast for both of them. An hour later, Anya joined him in the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to”, she said when he pointed at the now lukewarm breakfast.

“I’ve smelled your cooking, Anya”, he teased, and she punched his arm. “You can do the dishes”.

“Fine”, she agreed, her mouth already full with toast.

“Also, Vlad sent a text and there’s some good news. He says we can start skating again”.

“When?"

“When we choose the music for the rhythm dance. I was thinking we could cross a few options off the list; I have a couple of hours before I have to go to work and it’s your turn to pick”.

After a bit of deliberation, Anya selected a colorful DVD case from the bunch: _The Umbrellas of Cherbourg_. They settled on Anya’s bed, their backs to the headboard and Dmitry’s laptop – still covered with stickers from his former sponsor – between them.

“Are there Russian subtitles for this thing?” Dmitry asked uncomfortably when the first song started.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t speak French, Anya. Did Vlad put you up to this?”

“You really can’t understand what they’re singing?” She looked baffled.

“You speak French?”

“I guess I do…” Anya seemed more confused about the fact than Dmitry himself. “I can translate for you, if you want”, she said quietly after a while.

Dmitry stared at her. He had met this girl just weeks ago and now, realizing that she spoke French, her first instinct was to translate for him; sacrificing her time for his comfort. Maybe she was as lonely as he was.

~

Anya and Dmitry were lying next to each other, their feet dangling down opposite ends of the couch and their heads close. They were listening intently to the soundtrack for _She Loves Me_ ; it was one of the last things left from the musical pile Vlad had given them. Anya had belly laughed to exhaustion and Dmitry was already planning where lifts and twizzles would fit best.

"This is it, right?" Anya commented.

"Yeah", he wrinkled his nose and turned to the ceiling. "I don't know how we would dance that to a quickstep, though."

"I'll show you, get up", she jumped from the couch and offered her hand; her beanie fell off her head in her excitement. When Dmitry looked up, the mid-morning sun behind Anya made her reddish-blond hair glow like a halo. He got up, dazzled, and they danced in that bouncy way drunken people do, barking with laughter and messing steps up. He liked her like that, with her hair down and her blinding grin, alive and carefree.

 

 


	7. The Neva Flows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were the first ice dance team the rink had seen in years but that wasn’t the only reason they were staring. More eye-catching than their height difference was the sight of Dmitry, fiercely independent Dmitry, holding the hand of this unknown girl like a lifeline.

The following Monday, Anya dragged Dmitry to the ice rink at six in the morning. She stuffed her feet in her skates as fast as she could and staggered wildly towards the ice; Dmitry stayed behind.

"You're going to get injured if you don't warm up, you idiot", he shouted from the boards. She stuck out her tongue at him and went on skating.

"You two are doing well, it seems", commented Vlad, chuckling gregariously.

"She's so stubborn", Dmitry scoffed as he warmed up. Vlad studied Anya from afar; she had improved her posture and looked much more graceful than when they had first found her.

"I hadn't noticed... But she skates like she had French training, don't you think?” he said, looking at Dmitry for confirmation.

"Yeah, she can speak French too", when he saw Vlad's confusion he added: "She talks a lot in her sleep".

"Ha! I'd always suspected some unspoken attraction between the two of you", Vlad wiggled his eyebrows playfully and laughed at the offended glare Dmitry shot at him.

"It's not like that", the young man insisted.

"Better not be like that, to be honest", underneath Vlad's smile there was a certain sadness, a memory of things that could have been. "She's our ticket out of Russia and I don't need you complicating things more than it's necessary".

"I know", Dmitry said curtly.

~

Anya had been counting the hours and minutes until they were allowed to skate again. She was spinning aimlessly, relishing the freedom of having the whole rink to herself. As she skated backwards, the sudden appearance of a dark haired, young man startled her so much she lost her balance. His hand held her arm firmly, stopping her fall.

"Careful there", the young man said. He had a handsome face, with big, dark eyes; there was something menacing about those eyes, or his voice, or maybe it was his hand, covered in an expensive leather glove, that wouldn't let go of her arm. "Are you alright?" Anya simply nodded. "The name is Gleb Vaganov", he introduced himself, finally letting go of her arm to shake her hand. He scrutinized her face. "I feel like I've seen you before... You are?"

"Anya. I used to work here. Cleaning, mostly", she said.

"That must be it", he smiled warmly at her. "You're a pretty good skater, janitor girl".

Anya could sense that he was trying to be amiable and sweet, flirtatious, even. Unfortunately, it came out as a practiced speech, and a condescending one at that.

"Thank you... It was nice to meet you, Gleb", she nodded at him and moved away only to be stopped by his hand on her wrist.

"What's your hurry? Let's have breakfast together, the cafeteria is about to open up..."

"I've got some training to do... But thank you..."

"No worries" he smiled and let go of her hand. "I'm here every day!” he hollered as an afterthought as he watched her skate back to Vlad.

"So what do you think of our choice for short program?" Anya rested her elbows on the boards and gave Vlad her best angelic smile.

"I think it works, it's cheerful and classic and fun; we'll start with choreography soon. Next thing you'll have to worry about is the music for the exhibition program, I would advise doing something tender and romantic. Maria Feodorovna is a very dignified, old lady and I don't think Dmitry's punk music would amuse her", Vlad side-eyed the young man, making Anya laugh. "I'm going to get coffee, don't go anywhere".

As if on cue, Gleb appeared by Anya’s side.

“So, about breakfast…” Gleb was interrupted by the sound of Dmitry coughing from the stands. "Thought I had seen the last of you, Sudayev. Are you here with your… girlfriend?" Gleb hadn't mimicked the quotation marks on the last word but Dmitry could hear them.

"Skating partner, actually", Anya interjected.

"Oh", Gleb seemed at a loss of words. “Pairs?” he asked at last.

“Ice dance”, Dmitry replied.

“Oh”, he repeated and left with that. Dmitry continued stretching.

“That was weird”, Anya kept looking from one skater to the other.

 “Your friend Gleb tried to end my career as a skater. I guess you could call it a frenemy situation”, Dmitry explained sardonically. “And, to be fair, he succeeded. My career as a singles skater is dead…”

“… but you still can skate with me and you’re no longer his rival... That’s smart”, she conceded and he smiled proudly. "Speaking of which, are you coming any time soon?" she asked and he rolled his eyes. He finally put his skates on and joined her on the ice.

"Happy now?"

"Very”.

Dmitry took her hand and made her spin just to hear her laugh.

~

As the morning passed them by and the rink started to fill up, the weird looks they got from other skaters became increasingly obvious. They were the first ice dance team the rink had seen in years but that wasn’t the only reason they were staring. More eye-catching than their height difference was the sight of Dmitry, fiercely independent Dmitry, holding the hand of this unknown girl like a lifeline.

“They are all staring”, she said softly, holding his hand a little bit tighter.

“Fuck them”, he replied and she flashed a mischievous smile, one that Dmitry was very fond of. With his thumb, he brushed her knuckles: _I’m here, you’re safe_.

They skated placidly until a little blonde shouted at them from the stands.

"Mitya!" Dmitry winced. "Mitya, you're back!"

"You know I hate it when you call me Mitya", he responded as he guided a bewildered Anya to the boards.

"You're too young to be so bitter" the blonde replied as she met them on the ice. While she was a good inch shorter than Anya, the lines around her eyes said she was well in her late twenties. She had a round face, short hair, and big, blue, cat-like eyes. Dmitry skated towards her and there was a palpable familiarity in the way he automatically bent over so she could reach his face and kiss both of his cheeks fondly. “When Vlad said you were doing ice dance, I didn’t believe it but look at you! Look at you both! You look so beautiful together!”

Dmitry chuckled. “Anya, this is Sophie, an old friend”.

Sophie cringed at the adjective. “Mitya, you make me sound like a tired has-been about to retire!”

“Aren’t you?” Dmitry quickly added: “About to retire, I mean…”

“Well, yes”, she turned to look at Anya and mouthed: “He’s so rude!”

“I know”, Anya liked her already.

“Darling, you are saint for putting up with him”, Sophie said jokingly. “You’re new here so let me know if you need anything, okay?” she hugged her; it was a warm, older-sister hug and it made Anya want to cry.

~

Sophie took to Anya immediately and they became fast friends. She made it her mission to take care of the young girl, offering her a makeover and a job at his dad’s café on the spot; Anya only accepted to the latter. Afterward, when they were cleaning tables together, Sophie told her about her dog and her plans after retiring; Anya told her about her life at the convent and skating with Dmitry.

“That’s a mighty upgrade, darling. Going from a convent to living with Dmitry”, she giggled without shame. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always preferred older men, but he’s beautiful!”

Anya tried to mask her confusion. She could say Dmitry was annoying and obstinate; she could also say he was caring and affectionate. But _beautiful_?

“He’s not really my type, Soph”, she replied nervously. She had never thought of him that way… Well, just once, if she was honest: that day when they first learned the hip lift, when the look in his eyes and his disheveled hair had left her breathless.

“I guess it’s for the best”, Sophie shrugged. “Skating teams work better when there’s no messy relationship stuff to work around”.

“You’re probably right” said Anya quietly.

~

It was late at night, Anya couldn’t sleep and Dmitry had just gotten home from his shift at the bar. Finding the room in complete darkness, he tiptoed to the couch, and lied down with a sigh.

“I’m awake”, Anya announced softly.

“Too much coffee?”

“I guess”, she had a multitude of thoughts buzzing in her head; she chose the most innocent of the bunch to break the deafening silence between them: “Sophie told me about the ghost at the rink…”

“Oh, yeah, that. Don’t worry about it; it’s just silly superstitions and vandalism”.

“Do all of you really think there’s a ghost leaving marks on the ice and eating leftover food?” she sounded amused.

“Not me or Vlad. We guessed it was some junior kid. Sad thing is there have been no more strange events at the rink, maybe he got tired”.

“Or maybe _she_ stopped working there” Anya waited for Dmitry to make the connection; it didn’t take too long.

“You are the ghost?” he raised his voice. “You actually are the ghost?”

“In my defense, it wasn’t on purpose” she started. “There was old food in the fridge so I ate it. There were some electrical failures, I tried to fix them and it only made everything worse. I had free time so I skated. That explains just about everything, I think.”

“The stroganoff?”

“I never cared for stroganoff” she said simply. Dmitry howled with laughter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was small but I hope you like it :)


	8. My Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He told her about growing up rough in Petersburg, selling contraband, stealing and bartering. Then he told her about watching the sun set from the piers of Petersburg, his dream of skating, and how his father would carry him on his shoulders as they walked around the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a squabble, if that's not your cup of tea you can skip it from “Let’s get out of here, Anya” to “I believe you”.

Weeks of training turned into months and before they knew it, they were right at the beginning of summer and the rink was abuzz with the expectation of upcoming qualifiers and the impending visits from officials from the Russian Federation. Vlad seemed permanently stressed, trying to manage the responsibility of perfecting their programs and obtaining Anya’s fake papers all at once. He had insisted their story would be more believable if they competed in a couple of qualifiers, meaning Anya’s new identity had to be all set before the season started.

“Anya Morozova” he said one day, presenting her with a shiny, new passport.

“It has a nice ring to it. Thank you” she said and kissed him on the cheek. She left quickly, before he had the chance to ask about their exhibition song. They had yet to find the right song, nothing felt lyrical or romantic enough. In fact, the whole romance thing was a struggle that bled into their other performances.

“How did we do, Soph?” Anya asked after a run through of their free dance, feeling particularly proud of how they skated.

“Technically, it’s good. The lifts are good, the twizzles are good… It’s just that I don’t buy it, darling. None of it”, she said bluntly. “You’re supposed to look like you’re in love with him, right? I just don’t see it”.

“We’ll get there” Anya shrugged and tried to convince herself of it. “Besides it’s not just me, Dmitry doesn’t look like he’s in love with me ever”.

“You forget that I’ve seen him skate before. He’s holding back”.

Anya glanced at Dmitry, chewing gum and dancing with an invisible partner on the other side of the ice, looking boyish and ridiculous. She shot an incredulous look at Sophie, who turned to Vlad, a couple of seats away: “Am I right?”

“She’s right”, he declared. A moment later, he was calling Dmitry to the boards. “We’re doing another run of Swan Lake, boy. Competition level, okay?”

“No problem”, he got rid of his gum and offered his hand to Anya. “Come along”.

They got to center ice and, as Dmitry held her in their starting position, it was like something clicked inside him. His spine was straight as an arrow and Anya realized he hadn’t seen him look so dignified and proud before. The music started and everything happened at once. Dmitry was holding her closer, with tender hands, performing an intimacy that didn’t really exist between them; his graceful arms enveloped her whole. Every move felt earnest and new. In the end, the thing that knocked the air out of Anya’s lungs was how he stared. His eyes followed her everywhere; craving, longing, yearning. She let him lead, let him lift her, let him look at her like she hung the stars in the sky; she didn’t know how to respond in kind yet.

As fast as it had started, it ended. One moment, Dmitry was dipping her, looking besotted; the next, he was laughing it off, being his usual, unassuming self.

~

 "I'm so tired, Soph", Anya collapsed on the chair she was supposed to be picking up for cleaning before closing the café. It had been a long day of trying her best to pretend she was in love with Dmitry, while being flung over his shoulder with sharp blades tied to her feet. It was a suicide mission and they had to make it look effortlessly romantic. "He looks at me like I'm the only girl in the world and I just look like a stupid robot".

"A very pretty, stupid robot", Sophie patted the top of her head. "Look, all you need to do is imagine he's someone else. Your celebrity crush or an ex-boyfriend maybe?"

Anya groaned. That wasn't helpful at all; if there was a boyfriend in her past he had been long forgotten.

"It's just that I don't have that much experience with boys..." Anya said quietly.

"Fake it 'til you make it, darling"

They were interrupted by Dmitry coming through the back door. At Sophie's request, whenever Anya stayed late to close the café, he picked her up and they walked home together.

"I'm almost done", Anya said with an apologetic smile.

"It's okay, I'll finish up. See you tomorrow" Sophie hugged her tight and shooed them away.

"Do you mind if we stop at the bar on the way home?" Dmitry asked. "I forgot my jacket".

"Sure". Anya looked at him, walking with his head down and his hands deep in his pockets, so different from when he was on the ice, all regal pride and grace. She tried to reconcile both images in her head with little success.

Soon they got to the bar, full of tinted wood furniture, loud customers, and cigarette smoke.

"I won't be long" Dmitry told her and left her waiting near the door. Anya looked around, there were four bulky men sitting in the corner, drinking heavily and singing lewd songs. She scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Hey, pretty thing”, one of the men called.

“Come join us, love”, another one slurred.

“You think you’re too good for us, eh?”

Anya ignored them, hoping Dmitry returned soon so they could leave. A couple of minutes later, he appeared from behind the bar, holding his jacket.

“Dmitry! Old friend!” one of the men got up and stumbled in their direction.

Anya had never seen Dmitry look scared but the way his eyes widened as he grabbed her hand was preoccupying to say the least. He put himself between her and the man, moving slowly towards the door. “Let’s get out of here, Anya” he muttered.

“Is that your girl? Let us meet her!”

“That’s his beard, more like” one of the men said, making the rest howl with laughter.

“Let’s go!” Dmitry pushed Anya through the door and exited behind her. They started running once they realized the men were following them. They were all carrying heavy duffle bags, their hockey sticks rattled menacingly.

“Come back! We were just joking!”

They quickly caught up with them. Anya cried out when two of them grabbed her from behind; Dmitry punched blindly at the other two, desperate to help her. “Leave her the fuck alone!” Dmitry roared, as he received a punch in the mouth that knocked him to the ground. He got up to see Anya breaking free, biting a hand that was trying to smother her; she fought like a brawler, elbowing ribs and kicking groins. Dmitry punched one of the men square in the jaw before he could reach her. He turned around to see Anya chasing the last man standing with a hockey stick, screaming wildly. Dmitry rushed to restrain her, holding her from the waist.

“Let me go! I’m going to kill him!” she struggled in Dmitry’s grasp but he could feel the fight in her evaporating.

“I believe you” he chuckled in her hair. “Did they teach you to fight like that in the convent?”

“Drop me right now, Sudayev! You try and sleep in the streets of Petersburg and see if that doesn’t teach you to defend yourself!”

Dmitry placed her gently on her feet. “I did that for a while… You’re right, it wasn’t fun”, he admitted as he put his arm around her: “Let’s go home, tiny fighter”.

~

“Who were those guys, anyway?” Anya asked later as she cleaned up Dmitry’s open lip, sitting on the edge of the kitchen sink.

“I used to play in their hockey team when I was nine or ten. I dropped it for figure skating and they didn’t take it well” he winced. “Then, they found out I was dating women and men, and I guess that was the final straw. They’re not the forgiving, cuddly type.”

“I’m sorry”, Anya wanted to hug him tight but decided to fix the strands of hair around his eyes instead.

“Don’t be”, he smiled sadly. “I guess it’s the curse of the Sudayev men; believing in things that put a target on our backs. My dad was a human rights activist… He died in a protest that went sour.”

“What about your mom?” Anya asked, remembering the photograph she had found when she moved in.

“She died when I was a kid. I don’t remember much about her.”

“Who raised you?”

“No one, I raised myself” there was an innocent pride in his voice as he said it and it made Anya smile. He told her about growing up rough in Petersburg, selling contraband, stealing and bartering. Then he told her about watching the sun set from the piers of Petersburg, his dream of skating, and how his father would carry him on his shoulders as they walked around the city. “He said: ‘Bet you can see all the way to Finland from up there, Dima!’”.

“Dima?”

“That’s what he called me” he said simply. Anya studied him, with his roguish charm, his kind eyes, and that small cut on his left cheek, Dima was a name tender enough to fit him. _Look at us_ , she thought, _just two sappy orphans with impossible dreams_.

~

For the first time since she moved in, Anya woke up before Dmitry. She got up quietly and went to a bakery nearby, she bought something cinnamony and cheap for breakfast. She made coffee and waited, reading an old book that she had found at the rink.

"Morning", Dmitry mumbled in a hoarse voice; Anya didn't comment on the fact that it was way past midday. His face was all red scratches and dark bruises. She had found bruises on her elbows, knees and hips that morning too. _We are a sorry sight_ , she thought. "Are you okay?" he asked like he hadn't held her hand until they both fell asleep the night before.

"I'm okay" she said languidly. "Vlad called while you were sleeping. I told him about the fight and he said he's coming by later to bring some of that fancy cream for our bruises and to check your hands too".

Dmitry looked down. His knuckles were open in parts and slowly turning a sickly purple. "It's not that bad", he chuckled. "I just hope it gets better before the officials come to the rink. They don't need any more reasons to dislike me."

"What do you mean?"

"They're not fond of poor, bisexual, unruly sons of activists."

Anya nodded wistfully.

~

It had been a warm summer day and Anya had gone for a walk while Dmitry took a nap. She got back and started doing the dishes leisurely.

"Anya", Dmitry's gravelly voice startled her.

"Stupid oaf! You scared me", she closed the tap and sprinkled water on his face with her soapy hands.

He groaned and threw a rag in her direction. "Leave that, you urchin! I want to show you something."

She dried her hands, walked up to him and crossed her arms. "Well?"

"I think I've found it. Our exhibition song", he had a stupid grin plastered on his bruised face.

Anya eyed him skeptically as he queued the song on his phone; they had gone through this more times than she could remember and she knew better than to expect too much.

The song started with a soothing guitar melody, waltz-like and mellow. A man's quiet voice told a story of a couple falling in love in a beautiful city, holding onto each other as they walked unknown streets. It was sweet and perfect.

Dmitry took her hand and they danced slowly. He held her with great care; his touch was feathery on her skin. Swaying in their kitchen, dancing felt like an intimate matter; like she and Dmitry were suspended in a snow globe that played that slow tune. The music stopped and they stayed in the other’s embrace. Anya looked up at Dmitry and found him staring at her like he did on the ice. Staring at her eyes, her lips, drawing her in with a hypnotic pull.

The spell that was bringing them together broke when they heard knocks on the door and Vlad's voice from the hall.

"That'll do", said Dmitry simply as he patted her hand and rushed to open the door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you love this chapter.  
> The song they danced to is Köln by Corey Kilgannon, the lyrics are so fitting for them that I was thinking of including them later but I'm not sure if that would be too cheesy. What do you think?


	9. Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They scurried to catch up with the choreography, holding hands as they rushed across the ice.  
> Vlad said they were skating better than ever and Anya didn't want to reflect on why it was so much easier to pretend she was in love with Dmitry now.

They didn't mention their dance in the kitchen again. In fact, they didn't talk much about anything; Dmitry had been in a bad mood for days. That morning, he had barely spoken to her and, when they got to the rink, he walked straight to the sandbags at the gym and started punching angrily.

"He’s going to mess up his hands again and they haven’t even healed properly! What's wrong with him?" Anya asked Vlad as they both watched from afar.

"He's worried about the Russian federation officials coming. He gets like this every year" Vlad said.

"Why is that such a big deal?"

"They bring judges and experts to check the programs before the season. Sometimes, if the critiques are very bad, you have to start over. The main thing for Dmitry, I think, is that they have the final say in who goes to the Olympics and the next games are probably Dmitry's very last chance", he sighed. "He's a good skater, you've seen him... But sometimes that's not enough, you have to have a good reputation, be the story they want to tell... And it would take a village to rebrand Dmitry. He hates vowing and kowtowing to judges..." Vlad looked disheartened, which was exactly how Anya felt. She wished there was a way to level the playing field for them...

Suddenly, it hit her: the perfect plan. She would need nerves of steel but it might just work.

"How long before the officials come to the rink?" Anya had a glint in her eye and a mischievous smile.

"Three weeks. What do you have in mind?"

~

"You want me to _what_?" Dmitry's eyes widened with disbelief.

"It's very simple, really", started Anya. "We pretend to be together and we gain sympathy through the love story. Hopefully, it will be enough to distract from your troublemaker reputation..."

"Have you finally lost it?" Dmitry raised his voice and it sounded too loud in their tiny kitchen. "Anya, there's no way..." Vlad was standing in the corner, uncharacteristically quiet, and Dmitry turned to him. "Did you know about this?"

"Yeah, I knew about this. I told her you wouldn't like it", he raised his hand before Dmitry could resume his complaining. "Still, I think it's a good plan. The bad boy redeemed by love, leaving everything to skate with the one he loves..."

"That's not what happened", Dmitry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"No, but people eat that stuff up!" Vlad lowered his voice: "If they like you, they'll give you a fighting chance, judge you fairly. Just think about it, will you?"

"I'm late for work. I'll think about it", he said as he stormed through the door.

Anya didn't see Dmitry until the next morning, when he peeped through the bedroom door.

"Fine" he surrendered. "Let's date".

~

"This isn't what I meant when I told you you should fake having experience with boys", Sophie laughed at their convoluted plan.

"Are you going to help us or not?" Dmitry asked with exasperation.

"To spread the word that you're an item now?" Sophie thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Sure, you already have that old-married-couple thing going on and live together on top of that. It will be a walk in the park. I only have one condition: When you get your act together and really start to date, I'll be the first to know".

"Not going to happen" Dmitry and Anya replied at the same time, making Sophie arch her eyebrows in amusement.

Despite their reservations, everyone at the rink proved Sophie right. It took very little to convince them. Still, being affectionate felt like a burden to Anya. She would take Dmitry’s arm off her shoulders when they got home like she took off a heavy coat at the end of the day. Meanwhile, it came naturally for Dmitry. Even if he hadn't liked her plan at first, he couldn't deny that it played to his strengths: he was a great conman, a good liar and an okay boyfriend. His past relationships had always ended because he put skating first, not for lack of affection. And he would never admit it, but he missed that awkward feeling of the first weeks together with someone, figuring each other out. He found himself enjoying the process of constructing their lie and being extra touchy, on and off the ice; holding hands all the time and hugging whenever they could. The thing he liked most was to hug Anya from behind when they were skating, rounding her shoulders with his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head as their momentum kept pushing them forward slowly.

"You know", she said one day as he held her like that, "I really don't remember what having a boyfriend is like".

"You could have fooled me", he teased; his laughter rippled between her shoulder blades.

"What gave me away?"

"You get so stiff and serious whenever I'm trying to be cute", he proved his point by kissing her cheek and watching her freeze on the spot. "See?"

"Leave me alone!” she shook her head, trying to compose herself and hide the blush on her cheeks. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do".

Dmitry skated around to face her. "It's like...” he struggled to put it into words. "It's like having a conversation... Sort of… Here, I'll show you", Dmitry held her by the elbows and made them both stop at center ice. He took her waist, pulling them closer; it was very deliberate, very slow. "This is like saying: 'You and me, how about it?'".

Anya rolled her eyes as she grabbed his sides and pushed him away softly. "This is me saying: 'You're not as handsome as you think you are'".

Dmitry couldn't help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. There she was, flirting clumsily and insulting him in the same breath.

"You are supposed to get closer", he chuckled. "Let's try again. Stay still, ok?”

Very slowly, like before, he raised his hands and fixed her hat. It was tender and sweet, his eyes caressed every inch of her face. _'Why do you hide?'_ he seemed to ask. His hands stayed there, cupping her face.

Anya sighed and decided to play along. She really couldn't argue with him, not when he was being so earnest. So she laced her fingers behind his neck, pulling him down softly, until their foreheads touched. _'I'm afraid you'll see I'm broken'_ , she replied silently.

Dmitry let go of her face and took her hands. He kissed her knuckles.

"Like that", he said and his breath tickled her fingers. She looked up and there it was again, that pull between her ribs, drawing them together, making her notice tiny specks of gold in his eyes.

It took them a couple of seconds to realize their music was playing through the speakers, signaling them to do another run through of their rhythm dance. They scurried to catch up with the choreography, holding hands as they rushed across the ice.

Vlad said they were skating better than ever and Anya didn't want to reflect on why it was so much easier to pretend she was in love with Dmitry now.

~

The following days had them figuring out the minutiae of their relationship and drawing boundaries. They were to act like a couple when they were in public; at home, they went back to being skating partners. Despite their efforts, bits and pieces of the day got mixed up in repetition.

“Sorry, my bad”, whispered Anya after she dodged his embrace while they waited in line in the cafeteria. “Give that back!” complained Dmitry after she refused to return his jacket when they got home. “I forgot we were alone”, explained Anya after she hugged him from behind while he was cooking. “Shit! Won’t happen again”, apologized Dmitry after he sleepily kissed her temple on a Sunday morning.

~

"Get out of the way!" Dmitry shouted as he scrambled to stop them from colliding. They were about to do their rotational lift when another skater raced towards them. Dmitry had to stop in the middle of the lift and move them both in the opposite direction. His heart was thumping inside his chest and his hands were shaking in anger. They turned to find a very nonchalant Gleb on the other side of the rink. "I swear to God, Gleb...!" Dmitry couldn't finish his threat or go to face him: a small hand on his chest stopped him.

"No", Anya said in a tone that left no room for discussion. "You go there and knock his teeth out and all of this", she gestured at both of them, "is for nothing. Calm the fuck down."

"I could have dropped you!"

"But you didn't. Now look at me", her eyes were the color of the Petersburg sky before a storm, gray or blue, Dmitry wasn't quite sure. "I'm okay. You're okay. Now let's do those twizzles again, yeah?"

He nodded and followed her. Even after months of training together he still was shocked whenever she did that, she settled him like no other person he had met.

They practiced their twizzles a couple of times. There was something comforting about spinning side by side, knowing that, even without touching, they were doing the same thing at the same time.

"I forgot my gloves at home. My hands are freezing", Anya said as she flexed her fingers.

"You can borrow mine. They're in my bag", he said and skated away. She kept practicing one of their step sequences while she waited.

"Anya", Gleb called as he materialized by her side. "I'm sorry about before. A terrible misstep. Are you alright?"

"It's fine, I'm fine", she answered coolly.

"No need to give me the cold shoulder", he paused and smiled, waiting for her to laugh. "It was a joke, see? I have a sense of humor".

Anya forced a smile. "You really shouldn't worry about me, it was nothing", she reassured him.

"I do worry, Anya", he held her arm, locking her in place. "Look, I feel like I should warn you. I kept my mouth shut because I thought you and Sudayev were only skating together, but now... I just think you should be very careful. It was already risky to trust your skating career to a street rat and his kleptomaniac, has-been coach..."

Anya stared at him defiantly. "What is it to you? We are dating, that's harmless."

Gleb held her stare effortlessly. "I just don't like to see young girls taken advantage of, it would be a terrible thing to have your heart broken over a publicity stunt or whatever it is those two are planning."

"I'm a big girl, I can manage. Thanks for the warning, though."

"Consider it a gift from a friend", he extended his hand and she shook it half-heartedly. She saw Dmitry coming back to the ice and skating towards them.

"Gleb", he said with a nod; he quickly took his place beside Anya and put his arm around her waist. "Here you go, sunshine", he said sweetly as he handed her the gloves; Anya stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the pet name. As the weeks passed, Dmitry kept coming up with increasingly corny ways to address her, enjoying every little bit of embarrassment he caused. Still, she was relieved to be taken out of this weird exchange with Gleb.

"Thanks, babe", it wasn't creative as far as endearments went but it was all that she could manage without throwing up. "Bye, Gleb!" She waved as they skated away.

"So, what's new with Vaganov?" asked Dmitry as she put on the pair of black gloves.

"Not much. He's worried you and Vlad are corrupting me. Or worse, using me for a publicity stunt.”

Dmitry threw his head back as he laughed. "If he only knew who the mastermind is".

Anya smiled haughtily and presented her cheek for kissing. When Dmitry pressed a peck on her cheekbone, right where her scar ended, she realized that not only was she getting good at pretending, but she was actually enjoying it.

~

Dmitry was waiting for Anya in the cafeteria; his leg was jiggling restlessly under the table. He was getting more and more uncomfortable as the rest of the tables got occupied by Russian federation officials, chatting and drinking coffee. Everything was going like they had planned but he was still uneasy.

A couple of minutes later, he saw Anya. Her strawberry blonde hair was down, framing her face with soft curls. She was the embodiment of next-door pretty as she walked in his direction, all rosy cheeks and lip glossed smiles. All done up, she reminded him of someone he couldn’t quite place.

"Hey, babe", she greeted him. She pressed her lips to his cheek, short and sweet. It was a "Good morning, love" kiss, a "Hey, I missed you" kiss. She sat next to him and held his hand over the table.

Game on.

They talked about a change in their twizzles for their rhythm dance, Anya's late shift at the café and their costumes for the first competition of the season. It was all small talk about mundane things and it didn't match their body language at all. They were putting on a show, one that they had been rehearsing for three weeks now.

"Sophie said I can borrow a couple of her old costumes for the competition", commented Anya as she drew delicate circles on Dmitry's knuckles with her index finger. "One is yellow with a blue ribbon and the other one is teal. Do you have anything that matches?"

"I have a teal vest, I think. It goes with a white shirt and brown pants", he reached out to tuck one of her loose curls behind her ear. "I don't own anything yellow, I look terrible in yellow".

"You look terrible in most things, to be fair", she giggled and looked down in mock demureness. "What about blue? The ribbon is sort of a sky blue.”

"I have a blue shirt."

"Problem solved", she turned Dmitry's wrist to check his watch. "Ok, we've been doing this for twenty minutes, I think that's enough".

They got up and he immediately put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned into his side and laced her arms around his waist as they walked away from the cafeteria.

"This better work", he muttered as he kissed the top of her head.

~

They were next to skate their rhythm dance and Dmitry could feel Anya shaking by his side.

"Hey", he squeezed her hand. "It's okay, we've done this a thousand times."

"Yes, but everyone is watching now", apart from the officials and judges seated in the front, there were several rows taken by skaters and their coaches, all staring at the ice.

"It's just us", he said softly. "We're skating for us, not for them. Come here", Dmitry opened her arms and she buried her face in his chest. For a moment she believed it, that the whole world was Dmitry's arms holding her safe and warm; that the heartbeat underneath his sweatshirt was her home. She still felt that, even as she let go and took the guards off her skates. They glided to take their positions at center ice; the music started playing and Anya kept her eyes on Dmitry's face. He smiled and winked and flirted; he made it easy to forget about the rest of the people in the room and just let go.

When it was over, with them standing in a tight embrace, struggling to catch their breath and a sense of relief washing over them, Anya found that she wasn’t strong enough to fight whatever it was that was drawing her towards Dmitry. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It took him a second to respond: a second to close his eyes, a second to put his hands on her waist and bring them closer. It was all it took, that moment of hesitation reminded Anya that it was an act. The hug, the flirting, the hand-holding… They were all lies and she had been stupid enough to forget. She pulled back with a shudder, trying to keep some composure, giving her best smile to the judges and officials in front of them as they bowed and left the ice. She put the guards on her skates and walked briskly to the locker room; her cheeks were burning with tears of anger and embarrassment.

“What the hell was that?” Dmitry had caught up with her.

"I’m sorry”, it was all she could manage.

“That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It wasn’t”, she dried her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“Anya, it was a good skate, there was no need to oversell it”, the sight of her crying crushed him, he hadn’t dropped her on the ice but she was hurt nonetheless and he felt responsible. “It was a good skate, don’t worry.” He put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, it felt wrong and oddly formal.

“Anya?” Vlad called from the hall.

“In here!” her voice was a little raspy from crying.

“You two need to go back, now. What are you doing, anyway?  Making out?”

“Vlad, did it work?” Anya asked.

“Yes, they love you!” he said triumphantly. “Come on!”

~

They skated back to where the officials were. Four of them, between judges and experts, were giving them notes on their program.

“So, Anya and Dmitry”, a woman with chestnut hair and glasses examined a binder with information from the many skaters that trained there. “It’s nice to see an ice dance team in this rink again”, she gave them a kind smile before assuming a more formal tone. “Notes?” she prompted her colleagues.

“We liked it. The twizzles need a little work, you need to clean up the arms at the end."

"Anya, you need to point your toes and watch your posture throughout, it falters at times."

"Dmitry, you should really watch your footwork, your edges could be better."

“Apart from that, maybe try to not get so caught up in each other? It alienates the audience” said the younger man of the group.

The woman with the binder laughed softly. “I didn’t mind that”, she said and winked at Anya. “That would be all. We’ll be examining the free dance tomorrow.” Dmitry and Anya thanked them and were about to leave when the woman called them back one more time. “Morozova, we were wondering…” she gestured at her colleagues, as if to share the blame. “Were you related to Anastasia Romanova? You look so similar."

“I don’t think so. I was raised in a convent, so I really don’t know much about my family history”, she replied shyly.

“Oh, I see. Sorry, we had to ask”, the woman dismissed them again looking somewhat embarrassed.

~

They sat next to each other to unlace their skates, elbows and knees softly bumping into each other.

“I can't believe it worked”, sighed Dmitry. “I could kiss you, Anya.”

She laughed awkwardly. “Been there, done that”, she said trying to downplay what had happened before. She hurried to change the subject: “Dmitry? Who is this Anastasia Romanova person? Sophie said I looked like her when she was doing my hair this morning and now the judges said the same thing…”

Dmitry winced; he felt his stomach drop at the mention of the name earlier but he had hoped they could avoid the subject. “She was a singles skater, very famous. She was set to be the greatest Russian skater of the decade”, he cleared his throat and fixed his hair, avoiding Anya’s piercing gaze. “Umm, she died in a car crash at seventeen.”

“Was she your friend?” Anya asked gingerly.

“Not really, I never met her properly. But she was, you know, skating royalty. And her death was a very big scandal, his father was a politician involved with dangerous people; the whole family died in that car crash”, he kept looking at his skates.

“Do I really look like her?”

The genuine curiosity in her voice took him by surprise and made him smile; he turned to inspect her. “Well, you have the build of a figure skater, so that’s obvious”, he started. “Your hair is the same color but she had it longer. She had fuller cheeks”, he commented when he noticed the soft hollow under her cheekbones. The nose wasn’t quite right, either; Anya’s was crooked on the bridge. He assumed she broke it when she got that scar on the side of her head and that tiny cut on her top lip, so he decided not to mention it. “Your eyes are different, hers were blue.”

“I have blue eyes, you idiot” Anya laughed.

“They’re grey, aren’t they?” he stared searchingly. Perhaps it was the fluorescent lights or her black sweater that dulled down the color. And he remembered Anastasia’s eyes to be an impossibly bright shade of blue.

“They’re blue and you should get your eyes examined, nitwit”, she punched his arm and walked away from him in her socks, carrying her skates over her shoulder, looking unrefined. She resembled Anastasia on the ice, he could admit that much, but she went back to being small, ordinary Anya when her skates were off.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun writing this, they're both useless and I love them.


	10. Everything To Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you nervous?" she asked after a while.  
> "A bit", he admitted. "I've never competed with a partner before."  
> "Don't worry. I won't let you fall", she said jokingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anya is severely dehydrated. I think we can all relate.

Soon, the assignments for the Grand Prix events were made public. Gleb, Sophie and a pairs team were the only ones from the rink that figured on the list.

"I'm so proud of you!" said Anya as she hugged Sophie tight.

"It's my last hurrah", joked Sophie. "I wish you could come too. It's been Dmitry's dream since he was a little kid."

Anya smiled at the thought of it; a little, lanky boy, skating unsteadily, being perfectly adorable. "It's our first season, though. Wouldn't that be impossible?" reasoned Anya.

"Well, yeah. Except if you had been the host pick at the Rostelecom Cup", said Sophie. “Maybe next year, huh?” she nudged her affectionately.

"Host pick?"

"The hosting country can pick a lesser known competitor to represent them. It's like winning the lottery."

Anya thought about it for a moment and decided she wasn't ready for that kind of burden just yet. She couldn't even think about qualifiers without feeling a bit faint.

It wasn't just the pressure she felt while skating for a big audience, it was also the fact that Vlad had added some "flourishes" to their programs to make them more artistic, more romantic. Longing stares, soft caresses, flirty glances; all of it was choreographed now. The worst were those barely-there kisses. Dmitry would hold her tenderly, bringing their faces together until their noses touched and their mouths were so close she could feel his breath on her lips; feathery and agitated.

And then he drew back. She hated it.

His touch made Anya feel like an exposed nerve; her blood boiled under his palms. At first, she had blamed her nerves but, if she was honest with herself, that had little to do with it. There was a feeling, some kind of mixture between hunger and anticipation, growing in her belly, pulling at her toes, tingling in her wrists, pressing inside her chest... It had appeared when she first kissed Dmitry and had refused to leave ever since. It got worse at night, when Anya woke up after a nightmare, and his profile was barely visible in the moonlight, and his hand in hers wasn't enough...

She wanted Dmitry like she had him on the ice: his hands all over her, his arms holding her tight, his nose in her hair. She wanted Dmitry like she had him on the ice: undeniably hers.

~

"Anya? Have you seen my vest?" Dmitry shouted. He was pacing nervously down the hall, close to the changing rooms, silently wishing he was competing in singles instead. Qualifiers were the worst; too early in the season to have real confidence in the programs. And this felt different to all his previous competitions; it carried a sense of responsibility not only for his career but also for Anya's. It was unsettling. "Anya?" he called again. He could hear girlish giggles from the women's changing room.

"Vlad has your vest!", she hollered back.

"Okay, I'll go find him."

"No, wait!" after a pause, she stepped hesitantly out of the changing room and into the hall, wearing Sophie's teal dress. Even with her makeup only halfway done and her feet bare, she looked positively glowing. Dmitry's eyes followed her exposed neck down to the curve of her waist. The skirt reached her mid-thighs, floating prettily. He knew it was a very modest dress, as far as figure skating costumes went, but this was the most revealing thing Anya had ever worn and it fit her perfectly. His lips curved into an involuntary smile.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, gesturing to herself.

"Not bad!" he exclaimed and his voice sounded higher than he intended. He cleared his throat and shuffled nervously in his spot.

Anya rolled her eyes, taking his overreaction as sarcasm. "I'll just finish putting my makeup on and I'll meet you in fifteen minutes."

She left him there, nervously running his hands through his hair. He shook his head, trying get rid of that dazzled feeling. What was happening to him?

~

Being one of the new couples at the competition, they were in the last group for the rhythm dance. Vlad had kept them occupied playing cards while they waited. Anya was terrible at it.

"Cards weren't considered an appropriate pastime at the convent", she justified.

Dmitry looked at her: sitting with her back against the wall, hunched over her cards with her legs crossed in a tomboyish way, wearing a denim jacket she had stolen from him over her dress. "You really don't seem the type of girl that would care about what's proper or not", he commented. She stuck out her tongue out at him.

"Are you nervous?" she asked after a while.

"A bit", he admitted. "I've never competed with a partner before."

"Don't worry. I won't let you fall", she said jokingly.

~

It turned out that Anya's promise payed off. After their twizzles, Dmitry lost his balance and nearly fell on the ice, Anya held onto his arm, stopping his fall and they kept on skating without missing a beat. They were penalized for the wobble but still managed to get second place.

"You are a lifesaver" he thanked her later. He rolled up his shirt to show her the bruise her grip had left on his bicep and Anya's mouth suddenly went dry.

"Anytime", she replied quietly.

~

Their second qualifier went even better, they got first place.

They went to the rink the following day only to hear that Vlad had partied a little too hard and had given them the day off. Dmitry sat on a battered, leather one-seater, looking exhausted. Anya moved to join him on the seat next to his but he stopped her. She gasped in surprise when he pulled her waist until she was sitting on his lap.

"What the hell are you doing?" she giggled, placing her arms around his neck almost automatically. It scared her, how little it took for her to be loving towards Dmitry.

"Playing the good boyfriend" he whispered into her neck.

"Oh", she couldn't keep the note of disappointment from her voice.

"Natasha has been giving me some weird looks lately", he said, pointing out the small brunette in the corner.

"This... What we're doing... It's not binding, you know?" she said softly, fixing his hair and trying not to think about how much she wanted to kiss him. "You could go out with her, call this off..."

"Nah, I like you better" he said only half-jokingly. He relished the bright smile that lit up Anya's face at that. It was like that between them now. Just half-truths.

Anya relaxed in his embrace, putting her head on his chest, breathing him in. He could feel the exact moment when she fell asleep, curled up in his arms. He pressed a kiss on her hair even though there was nobody watching anymore. He fell asleep too and only woke up at the sound of Sophie giggling and taking photos of them hours later.

"I'm getting a toothache just from witnessing this", she said.

Dmitry bit his tongue to stop himself from asking for a copy of those photos.

~

Things were relatively quiet at the rink. Those who were competing at the Rostelecom Cup had that frenzied and desperate look as they practiced, especially Gleb. But for Anya and Dmitry it felt like the worst was behind them, the next important thing to define was how they would get to Paris.

Anya was also spending an inordinate amount of time doing research about Anastasia Romanova. She learned all she could about her family and her career. She felt a strange connection to her that went past their resemblance; it was like she was looking at what her life could have been. She imagined herself living with her family, being cared for and never hungry. She saw herself growing up with three older sisters, knowing all about clothes and makeup; and a younger brother, getting into all sorts of mischief. She fantasized about having a father that would teach her to dance standing on his shoes, and a mother that was a bit too strict. She pictured the summers in Paris with a doting grandmother.

She watched every video of every skate she could find; wishing she could be as good as this little girl. She silently grieved over the fact that they weren’t going to Moscow for the Rostelecom Cup. Anya wanted to go, even just to stand where Anastasia had stood. It was like the ice of Moscow was calling to her.

~

It was late October, with the trees of Petersburg nearly bare and the nights getting colder and colder, and Vlad received a call.

"Dmitry! Anya!" he shouted at them. "We're going to Moscow!"

"What?" Anya grabbed Dmitry's arm for balance, feeling her knees shaking.

"The host pick... The boy, he had an injury and the officials liked you so much that last time... We're going in their place... We're going to the Rostelecom Cup!" Vlad explained in barely constructed sentences.

"Yes!" Dmitry roared.

Anya let out a squeal when Dmitry spinned her around, lifting her skates off the ice, his arms embracing her tight and his laughter in her ears. She wanted to remember that feeling for forever.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These oblivious kids own my heart.


	11. Journey to The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya paused for a moment before stepping on the ice. It felt blasphemous to vandalize the ice where Anastasia Romanova had skated all those years ago, the place where she had made her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm coming at you with a two chapter update because I wrote the next chapter before I wrote this one ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Hope you enjoy!

Dmitry woke up slowly, wincing at the bright light of the morning sun reflected on glass. He had his temple pressed on the window of the van, the soft hum of the engine felt like a lullaby. There was a familiar weight on his shoulder where Anya's head was resting. She was comfortably curled up in the seat beside him. He collected his thoughts, remembering where he was. They were on their way to Moscow. In an uncharacteristic act of kindness, Gleb had offered to share his sponsored ride to Moscow with Sophie, the pairs team, Anya, Dmitry and their coaches.

Now, after eight hours on the road they seemed to be finally getting closer to their destination.

"We're almost there," said Sophie excitedly.

"Anya? Anya?" Dmitry tried to wake her but she squirmed in her seat and refused to open her eyes. "Honey bear?"

"Call me 'Honey bear' one more time, Dmitry," she threatened without opening her eyes.

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. "I thought you wanted to see Moscow," he said sweetly.

She opened her eyes grudgingly and looked through the window. She marveled at the view while also wondering how an unknown city could look so familiar.

~

Sophie waved them goodbye as she and the rest of the group drove to the luxury hotel they were staying at. Vlad had found an inn that was close to the rink and cheap. Cheap enough to rent a room for each of them; Dmitry's room was next to hers.

"If you need anything, just holler," he said earnestly.

"You know I will," she replied somewhat wistfully, thinking of her nightmares and how she had been sleeping better holding that boy's hand.

~

Anya and Dmitry were the first at the rink the following morning. They ignored the practice schedules, Dmitry picked the locks at the entrance and Anya practically ran to the ice.

"It's bigger than I thought," she said softly to herself, afraid that if she spoke any louder her voice would carry and echo. There was something imposing about the space, especially now that it was empty; it felt like an abandoned cathedral, cavernous and full of secrets.

Anya paused for a moment before stepping on the ice. It felt blasphemous to vandalize the ice where Anastasia Romanova had skated all those years ago, the place where she had made her name. She skated slowly, hesitantly, and gained courage as she went. Her muscle memory took over and she wasn't scared anymore. She started doing step sequences for a program she didn't remember, following music that wasn't there, doing jumps she hadn't attempted before. She had the vague awareness that Dmitry was somewhere in the stands but he felt miles away. He certainly felt less tangible than the shadows that started occupying the stands, people with no faces, people that loved her and chanted her name. She could have sworn she heard rapturous applause when she bowed to the empty stands. She tasted something bitter in her mouth when she opened her eyes and realized no one was there. She fell to her knees, crying.

"Anya? Are you alright?" Dmitry rushed to her side, dropping to his knees too. She sobbed into his shirt, unable to explain the emptiness that overwhelmed her. How could he understand the pain of yearning for something you couldn't remember?

~

After her meltdown on the ice, Dmitry looked after her with an eager concern that lasted for days. She didn't feel quite like herself, she was more distracted than usual and her nightmares were more vivid than ever. At night, Dmitry would run to her room when the voices with no faces came calling. At practice, he would appear by her side, quick to move her out of the way when another team was skating too close. When they met, she had found that protective streak rather annoying, but now, with that cold hollow in her heart, it felt soothing. Dmitry didn't love her but he cared for her. It was a temporary remedy, like drinking warm tea when she was hungry or like rubbing her arms when she was cold. Not quite satisfactory but somewhat a relief. She wanted more than she could get but she was used to living with hunger and this was no different; she decided she could settle for crumbs, she could settle for fake kisses and friendly hugs if it meant Dmitry was close.

~

The first day of competition came sooner than Anya would have wanted. They were well prepared for their dance but looking at the crowd and the score board made her feel like throwing up.

"Are you okay?" Dmitry asked.

Anya simply nodded and hugged him, searching for that warmth and that confidence he radiated. Her arms rounded his waist and her ear was on his chest; she heard the quick beat of his heart, betraying his calm façade.

"We're skating for us, not for them", she echoed, her voice a little muffled by the fabric of his shirt. _I'm here, you're safe_.

Following the announcement that the warm-up was over, the other three teams left the ice and Anya and Dmitry turned to Vlad, nervously.

"Remember, clean arms", he prodded. "Go and make me proud, you sappy kids."

They held hands and started doing laps at a moderate pace, waiting for their introduction.

"Representing Russia, Anya Morozova and Dmitry Sudayev", announced the speakers.

They let go and glided in parallel lines, meeting at center ice, standing a few meters away from each other. Dmitry winked reassuringly at Anya and she replied with half a smile.

The music started and they moved towards each other, holding hands almost immediately. The program was flirtatious and quick paced, like they had just collided in the dance floor of a 1920s club and, by chance, had found the perfect partner. They chased each other across the ice, smiling mischievously. They mirrored each other perfectly when they were apart and fit like puzzle pieces when they were together. Anya had no qualms in letting herself go so that Dmitry would catch her and she jumped into the rotational lift fearlessly. Being flung over his shoulders as he turned had scared her at first but now she trusted that nothing very bad could happen to her in Dmitry's arms.

They finished their program in a snug embrace. Dmitry was so close that Anya could see beads of sweat on his forehead and small lines around his eyes as he smiled with relief. They bowed in what seemed like a drunken haze and hurried out of the ice where Vlad was waiting for them.

"That was wonderful, wonderful!" he said as he hugged Anya and patted Dmitry's back.

They sat, sweaty, slightly out of breath and hoping for the bare minimum to compete the following day. In turn, they received not only their season's best but a score that placed them comfortably in the top ten of the competition. Dmitry kissed Anya's cheek and hugged her tight and she melted in his arms.

"Thank you," he said; it was only for her to hear.

She buried her face in his neck, smiling wide.

 

 


	12. Crossing a Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stepped onto the ice, moving slowly. They heard their names through the speakers and Dmitry patted the small of Anya’s back, trying to encourage her even though his hands were shaking.

"Talk to me, Vlad. How are things looking?" asked Dmitry, brushing his knuckles on Anya's arm. It was the second and final day of competition for ice dance and they were next to skate. He and Anya were purposefully averting their gaze from the score board, trying to retain what little confidence they had.

"The previous team had a wardrobe malfunction and they were penalized", said Vlad conversationally.

"Pity", replied Dmitry flatly.

"That's not funny", reprimanded Anya. She tugged nervously at the collar of her dress, suddenly paranoid. "Dmitry, would you check the clasp, please?"

He bent to examine the back of the collar, his hands cold against her neck and, despite himself, he started thinking about undoing that same clasp for Anya, helping her out of her costume, removing the delicate fabric off her shoulders and leaving a trail of kisses down her spine...

"All good," he said and his voice sounded strangled. Anya shivered when his breath hit the base of her neck but she didn't withdraw from him; if anything, she leaned closer. On impulse, he leaned to kiss the side of her neck and then her shoulder; it was meant to be a reassuring gesture but there was a hunger underneath it, threatening to bite and to leave a mark, that he didn’t manage to mask completely. She shivered again and turned to him with a look Dmitry couldn't quite decipher; her smile was soft but her eyes were dark. Anya fixed a stray of brown hair that had fallen out of place and cupped his cheek; her thumb ghosted over that small scar that looked like a dimple. She gave him a sweet and sad smile that crushed his heart a little.

They were brought back to the present when the previous team nudged them out of the way to leave the ice. It was their turn.

They stepped onto the ice, moving slowly. They heard their names through the speakers and Dmitry patted the small of Anya’s back, trying to encourage her even though his hands were shaking. The music for Swan Lake started and they both let go. They circled each other with graceful arms, followed each other with pleading eyes. In one of the lifts, Anya was raised above Dmitry’s head for a few turns and, as the music soared, she was greeted with applause. The program ended in a dip, with Anya’s lips alarmingly close to his own; after a few seconds he helped her up, settling for a hug.

“You were fabulous, you were spectacular!” gushed Vlad as he hugged them.

They sat to wait for their scores; Dmitry ran his hands through his tousled hair and Anya struggled to open her water bottle with shaky hands. Vlad seemed confident they would get a high score but even he was shaken when he saw their names climbing up to second place. There were still many teams left to compete but the three digit number on the screen was way more than they had hoped for. Dmitry kissed Anya’s cheek and she squeezed his thigh in return.

“I’m going to lie down for a bit,” announced Vlad as he walked away.

~

They stood by as the rest of the teams danced, watched them with heavy hearts from a screen near the dressing rooms. They hadn't expected to win anything. Sophie had practically scoffed at the idea. "There's no point in packing a dress for your exhibition program. You won't win anything, honey. But you’ll have so much fun," she had said amiably.

Now, with only two teams left to skate and their names still in second place on the score board, a medal seemed like a real possibility.

"I can't watch," said Anya, turning from the screen. Her nerves were gnawing at her insides and Dmitry's arm around her shoulders wasn't helping anymore. "I'll go and wait with Vlad."

Vlad was standing against a wall, he had found a secluded corner of the rink without screens.

“Nervous, child?” he asked sympathetically; Anya nodded. “Me too,” he smiled and offered her a bottle of a clear liquid that looked like water but smelled like cheap vodka. Anya took a swig and savored the burn it left on its trail.

After long minutes of wait, the rink erupted in applause and cheers. Vlad and Anya looked at each other not knowing what to think. Dmitry came running towards them, followed by a horde of cameramen.

“Third place! We won third place!” he roared. His arms enveloped Anya and lifted her small frame off the ground. He put her down and found that she was crying. He rubbed off the tears with his thumbs and watched her smile and blush under the flash of the cameras.

“Kiss her!”

Dmitry wasn’t quite sure if the voice belonged to Vlad or to the cameramen or to himself but he was only too happy to give in. As he cupped her face, he expected the same eagerness he had found when she had kissed him on the ice. Instead, Anya kissed him like she skated: poised and elegant, with something tough boiling under the surface. Her hands traced his jawline and caressed his face, her lips were pliant against his but it all felt a little too restrained. They let go and smiled for the cameras, holding hands, playing the part.

Later, on the podium, Dmitry howled with joy; looking luminous and proud and undeniably happy. It was everything he had dreamed. However, in his plans of winning a medal at the Rostelecom Cup he hadn’t counted on the petite girl by his side. His fantasy was somewhat sullied by a voice in his head asking whether that adoring stare she gave him was even partly real. He swallowed and his mouth still tasted like cheap vodka.

~

After their surprise medal, Dmitry and Anya were the talk of the event; the day after their free dance was swamped with press. They had almost no time to prepare their answers, so they agreed to answer one question each and try their best to keep track of what the other had said. It was a game of lying and improvisation and Dmitry was confident that he would win at it. Except that Anya was so much better than he expected. She was modest, clever, diplomatic and charming. She spoke perfect French and soft English; everyone loved her on sight. It felt like she had done this a thousand times before.

"Did they give you PR training at the convent?" he asked after their first interview.

"No, but I can tell you how many Hail Marys we're going to have to say to cleanse our souls after this much lying", she teased.

The interviews blended with each other, and some truths bled in with their made-up stories.

"How did you two meet?" asked a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair.

"At the ice rink. I saw her skating and it was love at first sight", replied Dmitry with a boyish smile.

"What is your favorite thing about Dmitry?" asked a twenty-something blonde boy.

"He's so great", said Anya, nudging his side playfully, "he's so talented and committed to the sport. And he's never dropped me once,” she joked.

"You've done a number of difficult lifts that take years to attempt even for more experienced teams..." commented a brown-haired, bearded man.

"We trust each other. Vlad, our coach, had the vision to cultivate that trust early on, going beyond our relationship,” said Dmitry simply.

"Anya, you're so lucky! What a partner, what a guy! If you ever leave the sport I'm volunteering as your replacement!" squealed a flirtatious, purple haired girl.

It was Anya's turn to answer and she braced herself, putting one hand on Dmitry's thigh, possessively. He put his own hand over hers and replied before she did: "I think, for me, there's no new partner after Anya," he said categorically. "We've come this far because we're together. It's a matter of loyalty,” he turned to find Anya hanging on his every word, smiling tenderly.

"There has been a lot of talk about Anya's resemblance to the legend that was Anastasia Romanova. Do you have anything to comment on that?" asked a tall, bespectacled man.

Anya felt Dmitry stiffen by her side and she squeezed his arm discreetly. "We're obviously huge fans. It's a tragedy that her career ended the way it did but we're grateful to walk in her steps and represent Russia like she did,” now it was Anya's turn to find Dmitry looking at her in awe.

"That was beautiful,” he whispered in her ear and she blushed.

"You're going home with a bronze medal. What are you most proud of?” asked a deep voiced man.

"Our partnership,” said Dmitry non-committally.

"Anya?" insisted the interviewer.

"Competing at the Rostelecom Cup has been Dmitry's dream ever since he was a kid. I'm so lucky to have been by his side when it happened,” answered Anya sweetly.

The man thanked them in a rich baritone and left. Anya sipped on some tea while they waited for their last interviewer.

"Anya..." Dmitry called, his voice mellow. "How did you know about me wanting to compete in the Rostelecom Cup?"

"Sophie told me. Was it too much? I won't mention it again, if you don't want me to."

"No, it's fine - It's just - It's true, you know?" Dmitry had a hard time trying to verbalize his confusion. He had assumed most of what Anya was saying and doing were white lies.

"I know,” she shrugged. "I've said a lot of true things over the past few hours. I'm not as good a liar as Vlad and you."

Dmitry didn't have the chance to defend himself or tell her that most if not all the things he had said were true as well. In that moment, a petite girl with an accent greeted them; she handed them each a small whiteboard and a marker.

"We're doing the newlyweds game,” she said cheerfully. "Let's see how well you know each other."

"Oh, we love games,” said Anya, trying to diffuse the tension but somehow managing to elevate it.

"First question, what's Anya's least favorite food?"

In five seconds, both of their whiteboards read "Stroganoff".

"Good! Dmitry's favorite place?"

They both hurried to write "Petersburg".

"Oh, a homebody! That's nice!" commented the girl.

"I love my city,” said Dmitry.

"Ok, Anya's dream vacation?"

Easy. "Paris,” they said in unison. Dmitry even drew a small Eiffel tower on the corner of the whiteboard.

"I love Paris!" exclaimed the interviewer. "Okay, last question. What's Anya's favorite color?"

Dmitry's board said "Blue" and Anya's board said "Red".

"It hasn't come up,” justified Dmitry.

"He loves how I look in blue but my favorite color is red,” lied Anya. "You know how guys are,” she winked at the interviewer as she gave the whiteboard and marker back.

When they were alone again and Dmitry turned to look at Anya, the only thing in his mind was Anya in a red dress.

~

Vlad caught up with them later in the day. Anya was speaking animatedly with the French ice dance team.

"Look at her, Vlad,” said Dmitry fondly, "going off in French, charming everyone."

"She'll break your heart,” said Vlad somberly.

"I told you, it's not like that,” he said with exasperation.

Vlad simply clicked his tongue in disbelief.

"The French have invited us to tonight's party,” announced Anya when she returned. "Should we go?" she asked Vlad.

"I don't see why not. It's part of the Grand Prix experience. Just don't get too drunk, we still have to practice your exhibition program,” he allowed, sounding like a stern father.

~

The party was in the same fancy hotel Sophie was staying at, so she insisted Anya got ready with her.

Anya sat on the edge of the bathtub while Sophie helped her do her makeup. As the soft brush ghosted over her eyelids and Sophie told her all about Alexander, a handsome German skater that she had a crush on, Anya wondered whether this was what having a big sister felt like.

"All done,” said Sophie, giving her tissue paper to blot the peach colored lipstick she had just applied. "Bite on that, you don't want to be leaving kiss marks all over Dmitry's shirt."

Anya did as she was told and only blushed slightly at the thought of it. "Unlikely,” she said softly, knowing well she couldn't even convince herself.

"That reminds me..." said Sophie, leaving the room and returning with a small, dark, cardboard box. She rustled through its contents and took out a couple of square packets, placing them on Anya's lap. Anya took them in her hands and the curiosity in her face transformed quickly into a mix of outrage, thinly veiled disgust and panic. Condoms, Sophie was giving her condoms. "These parties get a little bit wild,” started Sophie with a mischievous smile, "and I don't want you ruining your career because you were too stubborn to admit you had feelings for your skating partner."

Anya didn't reply, she pulled awkwardly at the lace sleeves of the top Sophie had lent her and reluctantly put the condoms in her purse. After a pause, Sophie continued curling the ends of her hair into soft waves and talking about Alexander.

~

Sophie and Anya walked arm in arm into the party. They found Dmitry and, after a couple of minutes of small talk and pleasantries, Sophie ran to meet her skater. Anya saw them later, making out in a darkened corner.

Dmitry and Anya tried to find their place in the already hectic party. There was a group in the middle of the hotel room dancing frantically to house music; another group had started a complicated drinking game that involved hula hoops, jello and tequila. Finally, they settled in a corner where a game of strip poker was taking place. Anya watched from afar as everyone but Dmitry -who had only lost his shirt- ended up in their underwear. In the end, they kicked him out for being a spoilsport.

"I'm hungry,” complained Dmitry as he put his shirt back on.

"Let's go back to the inn,” proposed Anya. She had hoped that the crowd would get more amusing if she put some alcohol in her system but she was three beers in and, even with a topless Dmitry, she still wasn't having fun.

They were about to leave when a very intoxicated Gleb stood in their way.

"Dmitry Sudayev! The man of the hour! The hero of Petersburg!" he slurred, getting closer.

"Gleb, please, we were just leaving,” pleaded Anya.

"Shhhh! Anya, I'm trying to start a fight,” he said, barely able to stand by himself.

"Gleb, buddy, I don't think - ” started Dmitry but he was interrupted by a fist flying in his direction and missing him by inches.

"Come at me, Sudayev! Come on, I can take it!" Gleb's tone grew desperate.

"I'm not fighting you, Gleb,” Dmitry said flatly.

"I can take it,” he pushed Dmitry and grabbed his shirt. "I deserve it,” he bursted into tears. "I'm a disgrace."

Suddenly, Dmitry found himself holding Gleb, his uncontrollable sobs attracting weird looks from the guests at the party. Gleb had been two points away from winning gold and, apparently, he wasn’t taking it well.

"There, there,” Dmitry said half-heartedly, patting his back. "Where are you staying?" he asked slowly, like he was talking to a child.

"Room 706,” replied Gleb, waving his card-key.

"Help me, Anya,” Dmitry struggled to keep Gleb from falling on his face. They held him from each side and stumbled out of the party and into the elevator. They dragged him into his room and dropped him over the lush bed.

"I'm fine, I'm fine,” repeated Gleb, his voice groggy and argumentative, but Anya hovered with worry.

"We can't leave him like this," she said to Dmitry. He rolled his eyes and reluctantly helped her. He put a glass of water on the night stand while she put a wet towel over Gleb's brow.

Anya's hand stayed on his cheek for a few moments; it was a comforting gesture she had appreciated while she was being nursed back to health by the nuns at the convent. Gleb took her wrist with nimble hands. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Anya. "I guess all that 'Love thy neighbor' stuff from the convent stuck," she shrugged. The truth was that, now more than ever, Gleb struck her as someone who was lost and alone, a lot like her.

"Speak for yourself," said Dmitry pointedly. "I'm only doing this because you're our ride back home, Vaganov," he punctuated the end of the sentence by putting a trash can by the side of the bed.

"I guess that's fair," said Gleb, groaning as he sat up. "I've given you nothing but trouble."

"To put it mildly," interjected Dmitry; his hands rested on his hips and his brow furrowed.

"I just want you to know, that outing you wasn't my idea," Gleb said softly. "My stupid publicist did that whole stunt behind my back," Anya stared in shock at both of them while Gleb babbled on. "In fairness, I did ask him to do whatever was necessary to make me the top singles skater in Petersburg, I just -  I didn't know it would come to that. It kept me awake for days, knowing that I had put you in danger. I know we've never been friends, I'm not stupid, but I never wanted you to get hurt. That time you both showed up at the rink all beaten up - " Gleb buried his face in his hands, collecting himself. Eventually, he looked up, all disheveled hair and swollen eyes. "I'm sorry, is what I'm trying to say," he paused but had no reply. "It's so stupid. I thought it was my responsibility to bring gold medals home, to make the country proud -  I'm not even sure I like skating," he laughed bitterly and Dmitry joined him despite himself.

"What a fucking mess," he said sympathetically. He _did_ sometimes pity Gleb Vaganov. Their laughter melted into a sigh and suddenly Gleb looked much too tired.

"I envy you two, so much," Gleb slurred, laying back in bed. "You love skating and you love each other -  You must be the two happiest idiots around."

"Bronze medal and all," joked Anya.

"Mmm," Gleb nodded hazily and fell asleep on the spot. Dmitry gestured to the door and they left his room as quietly as they could.

~

“You hadn’t told me that Gleb outed you,” commented Anya between bites of cookies as they walked back to the inn. They had raided the vending machines at the hotel before they left and were now holding an array of sugary foods, enough to feed five.

Dmitry shrugged. “I’ve never liked him but I’m not in the business of making people hate each other,” he went to take one of the packages Anya was holding, making her protest. “And you seem like the type that can hold a grudge,” he teased.

“He’s an okay guy," admitted Anya. "He really should see a therapist, though.”

“Said the amnesiac with PTSD,” blurted Dmitry before he could stop himself. He covered his mouth, wishing the words to go back in. “Shit, sorry. I babble when I’m drunk.”

“It’s fine,” said Anya dully. “I think we should both go to bed, it’s been a long day.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, stopping at Anya’s door.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he said.

He bent over to kiss her forehead, too drunk to realize she was reaching to kiss his cheek too. Their lips collided in the middle of the way -  and they should have stepped back, embarrassed at their mistake, but they only moved closer. It was different from their kiss on the ice, which had been rushed and kind of naïve; it was different from their kiss for the cameras, which had been composed and confident. This was a sloppy kiss, a hungry kiss. Anya reached out to grip his hair, pulling him down, curving her body so that her chest and legs and hips were touching him. Packets of cookies rustled at their feet. Dmitry tried to keep her still, gripping her waist, his cold fingers met the warm skin on the small of her back, making her shiver and bite his lip in return. He groaned against her mouth and kissed her harder, bruisingly. She tasted like beer and sugar.

Anya stepped back to catch her breath, slowly realizing what had happened, analyzing their position with half-lidded eyes. She unclenched her fists slowly, letting go of Dmitry’s hair. His eyes followed her searchingly, silently begging her not to leave.

“I’m sorry,” she said avoiding his gaze. She went into her room and closed the door behind her.

“Anya,” Dmitry called and the hoarse sound of his voice startled him. “Anya, please,” he pressed his back to the door, running his fingers over his swollen lips, not knowing she was doing the same thing on the other side of the door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	13. Stay, I Pray You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, last night," his heart sank as he prepared to recite his apology. "That won't happen again. I'm- I-"
> 
> Anya put her fingers over his mouth, stopping his mumbling. "No, you don't get it. Last night - I want that," she looked up at him expectantly; her eyes glowed azure blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some announcements:  
> 1\. I changed the rating, just to be safe ;)  
> 2\. I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again so I tried to make this a good one  
> 3\. I love y'all, you wonderful peanuts <3

Anya sat with her back to the door and hugged her knees until she heard Dmitry's footsteps shuffling away half an hour later.

Neither of them slept a blink.

~

"I'd ask you about last night but you obviously had fun," Anya greeted Sophie as she entered the rink. They sat next to each other in the stands and Sophie popped the collar of her sweatshirt in a useless attempt to try to hide the trail of hickies on her neck.

"It was okay," she said coyly, waving at Alexander, on the other side of the rink. "He's sweet, I wish I could take him home with me," she giggled. "What about you? Where's Mitya?"

"I don't know. I kind of snuck out before he got up."

"You did the walk of shame!" Sophie squealed.

"Shhhh, no!" Anya gestured wildly. "We kissed - I panicked - we were drunk - nothing happened."

"Ok, but you like him?" Sophie pinched her nose in exasperation.

"Of course I do," muttered Anya. A whole night of thinking about Dmitry had made that clear.

"And he likes you."

"I don't know, Soph! He was drunk -"

"Drunk or not, Mitya adores you," she said bluntly. "You must know that."

Anya stayed silent, trying to think what she should do. Keeping her distance from him felt wrong but it was the only solution she could come up with. She stared at the ice, where the Spanish champion was practicing his exhibition program.

Minutes later, Vlad joined them and patted the top of their heads affectionately. "My beautiful girls," he cooed sweetly. "Where's my ugly son?" he asked when, after a quick inspection of the rink, he couldn't place Dmitry. Anya shrugged, trying to look composed. "I hope he shows up soon, ice dance teams go after this," Vlad muttered.

"Anya?" Dmitry's voice startled the three of them.

"Oh, hi," Anya replied numbly. "We should get going, we're up next."

"Can we talk?" he insisted.

"After," interjected Vlad, sternly. All the rest of the ice dance teams were warming up already.

Anya avoided Dmitry's gaze as she removed the guards of her skates and stepped onto the ice. She held his hand but she felt a million miles away, skating without putting her heart into it. When their music played, they danced barely in sync, feeling uneasy around each other, like when they had first paired up. Halfway through the program, she squeezed his forearm: "I can't," she said. So they skipped the remaining lifts and skated side by side instead. The music ended and they did a half-hearted bow.

Dmitry's eyes were full of worry and, when she noticed the dark circles underneath them, her heart skipped a beat. Had he lost sleep over their kiss too? She didn't have time to wonder, Vlad called them from the boards.

"You know I love you two but that was - not good," Vlad and Sophie had matching looks of confusion. "Maybe you should go for a walk and come back when you feel better."

They agreed. In truth, they knew they wouldn't be able to skate any better in their current state. They removed their skates and put their coats on.

Out of the rink was only slightly colder than inside; everything was covered in a couple of inches of dusty November snow.

Dmitry walked with his head down and his gloveless hands deep in his pockets. He sighed and his breath coiled into a cloud around his mouth.

Anya gathered all the courage she found within her. Keeping Dmitry at arm's length wasn't an option, that was clear now. They couldn't skate at their best if she kept her heart to herself. The silence between them felt dark and heavy, so she broke it.

"I don't want this half and half thing we're doing. I don't want it. I'm tired, Dmitry," she sounded determined, even as she sighed with exhaustion.

"Of course, yeah," he replied numbly. Dmitry had been practicing an apology for her, the speech sounded eerily like the music for their rhythm dance: _I am so sorry about last night, it was a nightmare in every way... But together, you and I, will laugh at last night some day..._

"And last night-" started Anya.

"Yeah, last night," his heart sank as he prepared to recite his apology. "That won't happen again. I'm- I-"

Anya put her fingers over his mouth, stopping his mumbling. "No, you don't get it. Last night - I want that," she looked up at him expectantly; her eyes glowed azure blue.

Immediately, the dumbfounded expression on his face became a wide grin. "Oh, thank God!" he cried with relief. Tentatively, he ran his palms from her forearms to her shoulders, taking a step closer. "For real this time?" he proposed, tilting his head.

"For real this time," Anya nodded. They were only a breath away and he closed the distance easily.

Dmitry's lips on hers felt like mulled wine: they churned sweet and slow, insistent, making her head swirl and her stomach burn. She drank him in sips, pulling him from the lapels of his coat greedily, trying to keep him as close as possible. They danced blindly for a while; Anya guided him forwards until he stepped on ice and they stumbled and fell, landing next to each other on soft snow.

"Shit, are you okay?" asked Dmitry, chuckling despite himself.

"I'm fine, you uncoordinated oaf", Anya punched his chest playfully. He stared at her and she held his gaze. Anya knew that look, it was his "You're the most beautiful girl in the world" look; she had been on the receiving end of it when they skated but now was the first time she saw it off the ice, pure and without a hint of underlying sadness. His hair fell around his eyes, catching snowflakes and reflecting light. He smiled down at her and in that moment he was the most beautiful boy in the world. Anya dragged him down to kiss his dumb smile. How long had they been chasing each other, going around in circles? Dmitry reached out and held her close, one hand on her back and the other on her hip. His fingers, now ice cold from the snow, grazed the waistband of her sweatpants, tickling her midriff and leaving goosebumps in their trail.

"You're cold" she complained between giggles.

"Blame the Russian winter," he sassed against her lips.

On impulse, she grabbed a fistful of snow and threw it in his direction, watched his face contort into a mixture of mild amusement and indignation. He started gathering snow around him and she got up and ran, dodging for snowballs. Soon, he caught up with her and enveloped her in his arms. Anya laughed heartily as Dmitry peppered quick kisses on her eyebrow, her cheek, her nose. How had she lived without this for so long?

The soft hum of Dmitry's phone reminded them of the ongoing practice back at the rink.

"We should go back," Anya said despite herself. "Vlad must be worried."

They entered the rink holding hands, with the back of their coats wet from the snow.

They skated their program again, this time following only Anya's counts and Dmitry's singing as guidance. When they played their song again, a number of teams and single skaters moved to the side to watch them skate. They bowed and smiled, knowing well they had never skated better.

~

Anya found it amusing how nobody noticed a change about them when it was there for everyone to see. Dmitry's voice as he called her "Sweetheart" and "Honey" had lost a measure of sarcasm and, more often than not, he called her by her name, stretching it into a soft verse, reluctant to let the vowels leave his mouth. Anya, in turn -having clenched her fists for so long to stop herself from reaching out to touch Dmitry- let her fingers run through his hair, sneak into the back pocket of his jeans, and trace the contour of his bicep freely. Dmitry seemed gentler somehow, his sharp edges dulled down to protect his partner. Anya seemed more open, fearless of appearing vulnerable or too loving of a certain brown-eyed boy. Only Sophie knew them well enough to see what was going on but she refused to ruin their happiness with knowing looks or haughty _I told you so_ s.

~

At the end of the day, they said goodbye in front of Anya's door, like the night before. Now, however, when their lips met it was intentional, short and tender. There were wishes of peaceful dreams whispered between them. When the people without faces showed up in Anya's dreams, they weren't terrifying, they were dressed in expensive clothes and dancing a waltz that never ended.

~

Anya rolled the sleeves of her button down shirt and covered the top of her boots with her jeans.

"You look cute, babe," Dmitry said as he sat next to her. He was wearing matching jeans and a white t-shirt.

"You're not so bad yourself," she teased, enjoying their unorthodox choice of costumes for the exhibition.

They skated and, with the lights down and their everyday clothes, it felt a lot like the first time they had skated that waltz-like song in their kitchen. The chaste kiss at the end of their program stretched a second too long and it was greeted with whistles and soft applause from the audience.

As they walked out of the ice, they ran into Gleb, who had roses for Anya and a bottle of champagne for Dmitry.

"That's for not letting me choke on my own vomit the other night," he said awkwardly and left them to skate his program. Dmitry and Anya exchanged a confused look and applauded politely for him from the boards.

~

They walked back to the inn, wading through snow. Anya put her roses in water while Dmitry opened the champagne. They cheered and drank from mugs they borrowed from the kitchen. Dmitry swallowed a big gulp and set his mug aside, immediately deciding he preferred vodka to that bitter, bubbly concoction. Anya drank a couple of sips and winced.

"I think Gleb still hates you," she chuckled.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, this champagne is just terrible."

"Huh, I thought it was my cheap, street rat, bad taste," joked Dmitry.

"You have great taste," contradicted Anya, arching her eyebrows. She closed the distance between them and kissed him slowly. Their small kiss suddenly became heated, with teeth biting lips and hands finding their way under shirts.

"I should - uh -" stuttered Dmitry dazedly.

"You should stay," Anya's hand was still under his shirt, rubbing her thumb on his side. She stood on her toes and kissed him, pushing him towards the bed.

"Anya," he said softly between kisses and bites, she continued pushing until his calves were against the edge of the mattress. "Anya!" he grabbed her wrists and moved out of her reach.

"What's wrong?" she deflated in front of his eyes.

"Don't - I want to stay, I really do. It's just -" he sighed. "I don't know what Sophie has told you but we don't have to do anything - _you_ don't have to do anything you don't want to. There's no rush."

Anya looked at him with wide eyes and took a step back. Dmitry felt it as a confirmation and sat down on the edge of the bed, defeated. He saw Anya start rummaging around the room, inside her duffle bag and under her clothes.

"We've been skating together for months, right?" she asked without looking at him.

"Right."

"We've been living together for most of that time. We've been _pretending to date_ for half as long," she grabbed her purse and emptied its contents on the floor. "I've had more than enough time to think about what we have and what I want. I suppose I understand how this might seem out of the blue to you but -" she said, throwing the condoms Sophie had given her in Dmitry's direction; they bounced off his chest and landed on the bed. She walked towards him, savoring the look of surprise and satisfaction that painted his features. Carefully, slowly, she straddled his lap, lacing her fingers on the back of his neck. "I want you, Dima."

It had been years since anybody had called him that and he loved it, loved the sound of his name on her lips. He smiled wide and held her flush against him. In that moment, everything was Anya, the smell of her neck and the taste of her mouth and the feel of her hands as she removed his shirt and the pressure of her thighs on his hips as he rolled them over in bed. They battled unceremoniously with belt buckles and bra clasps, racing each other and laughing nervously. Shy fingers and expectant _Is that okay_ s turned into rhythmic moans and lewd _Oh, fuck_ s. Trailing tongues and timid _Right there_ s turned into bruising kisses and strangled _Oh, my God_ s. Bucking hips and desperate _Please, don't stop_ s ended in soft caresses and breathless laughter. It felt right to be riding euphoria, thoroughly spent, in each other's arms.

Anya zealously licked a bead of sweat from Dmitry's neck, stretching out to feel every inch of her front touching his skin, lying on top of him, where she had collapsed a couple of minutes ago. He rolled her over to his side and rubbed faint circles on her shoulder blade. She draped an arm around his waist and watched him struggle to keep his eyes open.

"I feel like a teenage boy loser," groaned Dmitry. "Can't even stay awake for some pillow talk."

"Next time," she said softly burying her face in the crook of his neck. It felt odd having him so close off the ice; a part of her expected to feel cold air around them, biting at their intertwined limbs. She kissed Dmitry's pulse point and he stirred in his slumber, pulling her tighter to his side. She hummed contentedly and fell into a dreamless sleep.

~

Dmitry woke up at sunrise. He felt an unfamiliar weight anchoring him. He looked down and found Anya holding him tight. He carefully freed himself from her embrace, got up, and looked in the bathroom mirror, examining what had happened the night before with the clarity of the morning. He had promised himself he would keep his distance from Anya if only to safeguard their way out of Russia: becoming involved with your skating partner was the surest way to doom a team. Still, it was hard to convince himself that sleeping with Anya had been a mistake when all he wanted was to go back to bed, hug her and never let go. He couldn’t help smiling when he found highlighter on his chest, where Anya’s cheek had been just moments ago, and his heart tightened at the sight of a trail of faint lipstick kisses that went from his temple down his neck. He wished he could get them tattooed and feel like this forever, so tangibly loved.

He turned back and looked at Anya. He had seen her skating gracefully and waking up groggily and eating sloppily and cursing at the top of her lungs and dancing freely and walking fresh out the shower wearing nothing but a towel... But this Anya, sleeping peacefully, glowing in the morning sun, was his favorite by far.

 

 


	14. We'll Go From There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of a sudden, every second was dedicated to their imminent move to France. Getting the right papers, polishing their programs, selling whatever they could and working after hours. It seemed terribly frantic and too much to handle at times. It made Anya extremely grateful of the stolen moments in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> itsbeen84years.gif

Anya blinked at the blinding light of the window; it had that white glow that only happened on snowy mornings. She delighted in the feeling of Dmitry's arms around her, in the soreness that had nothing to do with skating the day before. She looked up at him and found that he was already awake.

"Morning," she said softly.

"Did you sleep well?" Dmitry had intertwined their fingers and was tracing absentmindedly the contour of her knuckles and her fingernails.

"Yeah, very," she turned her face to kiss his skin. She never would have guessed his slender frame would make for a good pillow but, as with many things of late, she had been proved wrong. "You?"

"Like it was my fucking job," he almost purred.

"That filthy mouth," she clicked her tongue in mock disapproval.

Dmitry arched his eyebrows. "You didn't seem to mind my filthy mouth last night," he quipped.

Anya slapped his chest and blushed furiously. "Cocky idiot!" she rolled to her side, eager to start a fight but decided to kiss him instead. Dmitry dragged her by the waist, an arrogant smile still on his face. Their lips moved languidly, the slow rhythm of their breaths matched the warm sheets and the early morning sounds of the world outside. His hand caressed her thigh, fingers ghosting from her hip to the bend of her knee, making her squirm and giggle. Anya felt the same heat from the night before start consuming her from within.

They heard three knocks on the door and froze on the spot.

"Anya?" Vlad's voice called from the hallway.

"Yeah?" she replied quietly.

"Have you seen Dmitry? He's not answering his phone."

"Maybe he went out?" she had one hand splayed just above Dmitry's belly button and she raised the other to cover his mouth and stop him from bursting out laughing.

"In this snow?" Vlad sounded worried. "Hmm, can I come in?"

"I'm not dressed," she said and felt Dmitry's smile grow wider under her palm. "I'll be down in a minute, we can have breakfast together."

"All right, I'll wait downstairs."

They stayed still until they heard him go down the steps. Anya sighed in relief and Dmitry muttered something muffled and unintelligible from underneath her palm.

"What?" Anya laid back on the bed and let him go.

"I said that you're a terrible liar, darling," he said, his voice mischievous and fond.

"And you were very helpful and not at all distracting!" she replied with sarcasm.

It only took one glance at his childlike eyes to have her belly laughing along with him. This link between them was a foreign feeling and it warmed her thoroughly.

"I should go," she said with a sigh, after their laughter died down. "Poor Vlad thinks you froze to death and he hasn't even had breakfast to stomach it."

She got dressed quickly, unceremoniously, and ignoring the pleading eyes of her skating partner. She hid her disheveled hair under a beanie and walked around the bed to kiss Dmitry before leaving.

"You should probably take a shower before joining us," she said pointedly, tracing the lipstick marks on his face and neck with her index finger.

"Yes, ma'am," he did a little bow with his head and she was gone.

~

Fifteen minutes later, Dmitry walked into the small dining room of the inn, his hair damp and a spring in his step.

"Where were you?" Vlad mumbled through a bite of bread.

"Taking a shower," Dmitry shrugged so nonchalantly that Anya couldn't contain a smirk. "My phone died, by the way. Can I borrow your charger?" he leaned over to steal a piece of buttered toast from Anya's plate. "Hey, honey."

"You are cheery this morning," she noted, playing along.

"It's that bronze medal glow," he said simply.

They exchanged a glance while Vlad went on about how it was terribly late and they had to be ready within the hour or they would lose their ride back to Petersburg. Anya smiled and Dmitry looked down bashfully; all of a sudden, she understood what Sophie had been talking about all along, about shivers going down her spine and butterflies creeping up her throat. She could happily live like this forever.

~

Dmitry dropped their bags near the foot of the bed and Anya went to take a shower. Dmitry fell blindly on the couch, intent on waiting for Anya but so tired that he fell asleep almost immediately.

"What are you doing on the couch, you nitwit?" Anya's voice asked, amused, when she entered the room.

"Sleeping," he replied without opening his eyes.

"Come to bed," she patted the mattress and Dmitry could hear her smile. "I'll let you be the small spoon."

"That's physically impossible but I'll let you try," he replied, laughing at the idea. "Bet you fit like a backpack, you little gremlin."

Dmitry plopped down on the bed, lying on his side, not bothering to change out of his black sweatpants and shirt. Anya rolled over and held onto him, her arms around his shoulders, her leg over his hip and her mouth on the back of his neck. Her entire body folded up and covered only his torso.

"Told you," he muttered, not completely sure he wanted to wind her when she was this close to him.

"I can still choke you, Sudayev," she said without malice.

"Believe me, I know," he chuckled and rubbed his knuckles down her forearm fondly. "Anya?" she hummed in response and her breath tickled his ear. "What are we going to tell Vlad?"

"Dunno. You know him better than me... Would he- freak out, if we told him?"

Dmitry remembered what Vlad had said, about skating partners being better as friends. "He might," he responded at last. "We'll just tell him when this is all over. He has enough to worry about as it is."

"Okay," Anya's voice sounded slow and warm, like caramel running through a spoon. "Night night, Dima," she whispered.

~

After a shift at the café, Anya walked back to the apartment and found Dmitry in their kitchen, a messy pile of Ruble bills over the table. By now, she knew him well enough to tell when he was hiding something from her. Not that he was discreet at all, scrambling to cover the contents of the table with his slim body.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, barely managing to hide the hurt she felt.

"I was going to tell you soon. I swear."

"Tell me what?"

"It's not enough. We don't have enough money," Dmitry looked down to the floor.

"But - No - You said you could take me to Paris. We are supposed to leave in three weeks -" Anya tried to make sense of the words she was hearing.

"We thought we could. I swear!" Dmitry approached and tried to put his hands on her arms but she shook them off.

"Don't you dare! You don't understand, Dmitry! This is everything I have!" she walked away from him, holding her head in her hands. "Every hope I had of getting to Paris, every cent I've earned..." Anya fought hard to swallow her tears and then she remembered: "There was a prize... At the Rostelecom Cup, we got some money for that, right?" her tone sounded desperate even to her ears and she hated it.

"The people at the rink took a cut of that before it got to us. But here's your half," Dmitry counted under his breath, and Anya realized with dread that it was more than half the pile he had collected on the table. "You can use this to get to Paris, find someone that can help you..."

Anya could hear something crumbling in his voice and realized he was giving up his dream too. She could feel her anger negotiating with something resembling resolve.

"No... It's not fair. We were doing this together, that was the deal," she rumagged inside her pockets and took out what she had earned for her shift at the café. "Look, I know it's not much but it has to count for something," she felt the cold metal of her keychain in the bottom of her pocket. She hesitated for a second, examining the ornate letter 'A' and the tiny pendant, but eventually handed it to Dmitry too. "You can say the pendant is silver plated or something. Sell it..."

"Where did you get this?" Dmitry asked slowly, his eyes wide. He held the keychain up to the light, mesmerized.

"I had it on me when they found me. The pendant is engraved..."

"'Together in Paris'" read Dmitry.

"Yeah, but maybe it's worth something," sighed Anya, looking down.

"They're diamonds," he muttered.

"What?"

"The stones," he pointed at the small crystals adorning the letter 'A', "they're diamonds," Dmitry started chuckling manically. "You've had a pocketful of diamonds on you all this time."

Anya froze. "Is it enough?" her voice cracked.

"Enough? We could live in Paris for months with this. Hell, we could fly first class!" Anya felt tears of relief coming down her face.

Dmitry held her hand and started apologizing. "Anya, I'm-", she slapped his chest before he could finish. "Ow!"

"Don't ever do that to me again," her voice was high and her eyes were fiery even with tears coming down from them. "I'm not a prop. That's the last time you and Vlad keep me in the dark," her tone left no room for arguments, holding much more authority than she could possibly fit inside her small frame. Not for the first time, Dmitry wondered whether she had learnt that in the convent or in her life before that.

"The last time, I promise," he nodded contritely.

"If you're saying it only to appease me, I swear, Dmitry..."

"I'm not. I promise, okay?" he lowered his head, searching for her gaze, holding her arms. "I promise." He turned and kissed her cheek and her eyebrow and her forehead.

"Fine," she said in a cold tone; there was, however, a soft smile peeking at the corners of her mouth. The air was light and Anya could tell that if Vlad hadn't come through the door at that moment, Dmitry might have done something stupid like telling her he loved her.

~

All of a sudden, every second was dedicated to their imminent move to France. Getting the right papers, polishing their programs, selling whatever they could and working after hours. It seemed terribly frantic and too much to handle at times. It made Anya extremely grateful of the stolen moments in between. There were idle mornings when she would lay back and read, her head on Dmitry's lap, while he and Vlad played cards. There were quiet afternoons when the café was completely empty and Sophie joked about the fact that her dad was paying them to gossip over cappuccinos. There were placid nights when, after a whole day of skating and running around, she and Dmitry were too tired for anything other than holding each other; she would place her head on his chest, feel him kiss her fingertips and whisper sweet nothings until they both fell asleep.

Truth be told, what she loved most were the stolen moments as the Zamboni smoothed the ice, when they were ushered out and asked to make themselves scarce for fifteen minutes. The stolen moments when she would take Dmitry by the hand and run to the storage room; when he would lock the door behind them and look at her with hungry eyes; when she would pull the collar of his shirt until his lips were close enough to kiss; when he would lift her like she weighed nothing and plop her over some piece of furniture. There, sitting on a shelf, with her legs wrapped around Dmitry's waist, Anya delighted on the fact that when they got to Paris and she remembered Petersburg the first thought that would pop in her head wouldn't be of her nights sleeping alone. No, it would be this. _This_. And she would remember the soft hair on the nape of his neck, his hands on her thighs, and the way he breathed her name against her neck.

~

Their last day of practice at the rink was cut short when Sophie guided the three of them out of the rink and to her dad’s café. They were met with music and alcohol and half the skaters and coaches from the rink.

"I thought you deserved a proper send-off," said Sophie, shrugging. They were handed drinks and everyone cheered for their success. They hadn't told anyone that whatever happened at the gala they wouldn't be returning to Petersburg. Even so, there was a sense of ending in the air; it was in the way that Vlad collected old gambling debts among the present, in the way that Dmitry gave some pointed advice to the younger skaters, and in the way Sophie sobbed quietly into a tissue.

Anya put her head on Sophie's shoulder and fidgeted with her cup.

"It's not going to be the same without you," she told Anya between hiccups. "I mean, I'm retiring and all that but it's hard, anyway." She shook her head as if reprimanding herself for being so sentimental. "Okay, so this is for you," she said taking out an expensive looking phone from her bag. "You take lots of pictures and set up that Instagram account. And you call me if you need anything at all, yes?" Anya took air to refuse it but Sophie interrupted her promptly. "You're taking it. It's non-negotiable. I need to know you're okay."

Anya hugged her tight. "Thank you. I'll call you and tell you everything! And you can visit..." she smiled sadly. Sophie was right, it wasn't going to be the same.

"I'm glad you found Dmitry. You two can take care of each other, that's good," she gave Anya a nudge and returned her sad smile. "Mitya can be so stubborn, so obsessed on fixing everything by himself... And you are exactly the same which is just perfect," Anya let out a chuckle that sounded somewhat diminished by her tears. "I'll miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too," she said feeling empty all of a sudden.

~

Hours later, Anya found herself sitting with her legs draped on Dmitry's lap, laughing at one of Gleb's terrible jokes. They were all enjoying the buzz of alcohol and the sedating music that played in the café.

"You're both leaving and I never asked you to teach me how to slow dance," Gleb said absentmindedly. The statement was followed by a chuckle that made it sound like he regretted bringing the subject up in the first place.

Dmitry patted Anya's legs and stood up. "Alright. Get up, Vaganov," he said, offering his hand to a bewildered Gleb.

"I meant- No- Shouldn't Anya- ?" Gleb stuttered. He turned to look at Anya, expecting her to intervene somehow. She could see what Dmitry was doing; this was him handing an olive branch, in his terms, obviously, and with a healthy dose of embarrassment on Gleb's part.

"He's messing with you," Anya said at last, chuckling at the look of disbelief on his face; it took him a second to soften up and smile.

"Idiot," Gleb said simply and Dmitry ruffled his carefully coiffed hair in response. For the first time since Anya had met him, Gleb looked like a skater in his early twenties and not a world weary man. It suited him.

"I'll teach you to slow dance if you ask nicely," interjected Sophie, leaving a tray of empty glasses on the table behind them. "Come on," she raised him to his feet and led Gleb as they moved awkwardly, dodging tables. Anya smiled fondly at the sight. She had been so focused on getting to Paris that she had overlooked the things that she might miss from Russia.

"Hey," Dmitry shook her arm softly. "Are you okay? You went away for a second there."

"Yeah, just thinking, you know," she leaned to remove a loose thread from his sweatshirt. "Will you miss it?"

"Mmm?"

"Russia. When we're gone. Will you miss it?"

"Dunno. I've never been anywhere else," it seemed a guarded response, so Anya waited. "I was born here, raised here. I can't speak a word of anything that's not Russian..." he laughed but it wasn't sincere.

"It's okay if you miss it. It's your home," Anya said.

"Nah, I just lived here for a while. There's nothing here for me anymore," he said bitterly. "Will you?"

"I don't know either. It feels like I'm leaving something very important behind but I can't remember what it is. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," he gave her a lopsided smile. In hindsight, it made sense how much they had disliked each other at the beginning; they were so similar. Two stubborn orphans, ever searching for their place in the world. "Wanna dance?" he asked after a while.

"Why not?" she followed him to a nook between tables that only let them sway feebly, side to side. Anya put her cheek to his chest, caressing the back of his neck. Dmitry buried his face in her hair, drawing circles with his thumb on the small of her back. The dance wasn't flashy or choreographed and it was all the more precious because of it.

Vlad, sat in a corner of the café, watched them and cursed under his breath. "Well, I'll be damned."

~

Dmitry sat on the edge of a row of seats close to the parking lot of the airport. Anya's head rested on his lap and Vlad was sprawled over his own suitcase; both were sleeping peacefully. Vlad had secured tickets to Paris at a bargain price so they didn't complain when it was announced that their flight would be delayed by six hours. Dmitry couldn't sleep; he was fidgety under his calm facade, full of worry about possible ways their plan could go wrong.

The sound of tires screeching on pavement and glass breaking made him jump out of his skin.

"What the fuck?!" he cursed hoarsely.

A car in the parking lot had crashed against a wall, smashing a headlight in the process. Apparently, no one had been injured; a tall, blond man emerged from the driver's seat apologizing profusely, examining the damage to the car. Vlad got up slowly and joined the growing group of people gathered around the accident. Dmitry couldn't assess the situation further; by his side, Anya had woken up with a sharp cry, completely unhinged.

"Where are they? Oh, God, no! Please!" her screams came between sobs, her entire body shivered and Dmitry grabbed her before she could go running away. "Let me go! Don't! We have to help them!"

"What are you talking about? Help who?" Dmitry was accustomed to her nightmares, she woke up crying more often than not but this was different. Most of the time she calmed down once she realized where she was; now, her gaze was vacant and Dmitry couldn't reach her. "Anya, Anya... Come back... Anya, look at me..." he pleaded, holding her tighter to his chest.

"Please, help them. Oh, God! It's all my fault!" Anya was grabbing his sweatshirt, desperately pulling him towards her, struggling in his grasp.

"It's not your fault... Anya!" his firm voice startled her out of her ramble. Dmitry had tried to keep his voice level but the looks of passerbys were making him nervous, the last thing they needed was to be detained in the airport. Anya blinked at the flourescent lights, still shaking, still crying. "Hey, hey... Anya, it's okay..." She was still tense but not fighting against him anymore. "We're in the airport, remember?"

Anya nodded and buried her face in his neck, breathing shakily. "Sorry."

"Don't be silly," he replied softly. Dmitry ran his fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her. His thumb found the bumpy scar that spiralled from her cheekbone to the back of her neck. He felt a cold shiver go down his spine. What had happened to her?

~

A three hour nap later, Anya seemed completely recovered. With a polite smile and an easy manner, she led them through security with a confidence that gave Dmitry whiplash. Thankfully, no one dared to question the beautiful French lady or her gentlemen friends. On the plane, she ordered drinks for the three of them, sharing pleasantries with a flight attendant flirtatiously. Dmitry would have been offended if he wasn't so confused.

"I'm guessing you feel better now?" he asked, struggling to put his seatbelt on.

Anya reached over to help him. "I think I've done this before," she replied enthusiastically. "Flying. I think I liked it," she smiled.

Dmitry chuckled to himself and settled back in his seat. She was a mystery and a half. Every time he thought he had her figured out he was proved wrong.

~

As the plane took off, Anya felt like she was going to float out of her skin with excitement. She was on her way to Paris at last, she had a skating career to fall back on if everything went wrong and she had the boy she liked most by her side, soundly asleep. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a photo, feeling mischievous and a bit silly. Sophie had set an Instagram account for her; the first photo in her profile was a selfie with Sophie kissing her cheek. Now, the second photo was of Dmitry, curled up on his seat, eyes closed and brown hair falling on his face; the caption read “Sleeping beauty <3”.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this update! I have a lot of fun things planned out for Act II (a new moodboard and fun shenanigans featuring Vlad and Lily). Love y'all <3


	15. Close the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act II: Paris, Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote Dima and Anya skating in previous chapters I kept thinking of how it would look from the outside, with commentators and replays because that's how I watch ice dance. That's what I'm going for here. Also, the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. I'm sorry but I hope you enjoy it?

Anya walked into the hotel room and kicked her shoes at the foot of the bed. She sighed as she stripped of her coat and scarf.

"Are you back?" Dmitry's voice echoed in the bathroom. Despite herself, Anya smiled; she had not been sure at first but his enthusiasm for the huge bathtub in their room had been nothing but sincere. She walked barefoot; still carrying the pocket sized guide to Paris she had bought a couple of hours ago. The door was ajar and she knocked faintly with her knuckles.

"Are you decent?"

"Morally? Not really..." he said softly and she could hear that streetwise smile tugging at his lips.

"Hilarious," she said sardonically. "I'm coming in."

"Whatever, there's nothing here you haven't seen before," he replied and sounded a little too pleased with himself.

Anya found him in the bathtub, the image of luxurious relaxation, eyes closed and head back, arms on either side of the tub. She sat on the windowsill by his side and looked at him. He looked peaceful; she had never seen him like that. He was always running towards something or away from something, always giving manic speeches and quick kisses...

"You're staring," he said without opening his eyes.

"I am," she admitted. The moment felt charged and fragile, like a crystal bell about to toll. After a pause, she said: "You look a bit like a gargoyle I saw today in Notre Dame".

He guffawed and splashed some water on her.

"Dima!" a few drops of water had landed on her booklet and she frantically dried it on the front of her shirt.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A guide to Paris," Anya smiled wide and opened the booklet on a page dedicated to a bridge that crossed the Seine. "We should go here tomorrow, together. There's this superstition-" she paused, slightly embarrassed. "There's this superstition that if you kiss under that bridge, the following year will be lucky and full of love, something like that," she said gingerly. "Don't laugh, okay? I'm tourist trash, I know."

There was a small smile on Dmitry's face. "I wasn't going to laugh. It's cute," he conceded, running his fingers through his hair. "We can't go tomorrow, though. We have practice first thing in the morning."

"Right. I forgot," she chuckled. "I guess I need to get a calendar."

"It's okay, that's why you have me," Dmitry said simply. "Could you pass me that, please?" he pointed at the bottle of shampoo on the sink. Anya took it and, as she was about to hand it to him, she stopped, feeling an impulse surge within her belly.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing vaguely towards his hair and kneeling next to the tub.

"Uh... Sure." He hesitated in the way of someone who is not used to being taken care of, and raised his head awkwardly, trying to get within her reach. Anya dropped a dollop of shampoo on her palm and massaged it on his scalp, until it foamed. Her hands sculpted spikes out of his locks, making herself laugh. She had always liked his hair, how it fell around his eyes, how it flew when he jumped on the ice, how it felt when she tugged at it as they kissed... So she carded her fingers lovingly, careful not to get shampoo in his eyes, taking her time to run through every strand.

"There," she said with a satisfied grin after a while. "Done."

Dmitry went underwater to rinse the foam. He had kept his eyes closed all that time so when he resurfaced and opened them, Anya was surprised to find them dark.

"Come here," he said, his voice low. She smiled and bent over the edge of the tub, foreheads touching and his breath on her lips; his skin smelled of lavender. He kissed her hungrily, with desperate lips and his thumb drawing circles on her throat. She pulled at his hair and felt him moan inside her mouth. With her eyes closed, she felt his lips leaving a trail of kisses on her neck.

"Do you get like this every time you wash your hair? Sounds troublesome," she quipped, the weight of her joke somewhat diminished by how breathy her voice sounded. He laughed anyway, in the hollow of her neck.

"You're impossible," he chuckled as he unbuttoned her shirt.

It all turned into a cacophony of laughter and splashes of water as Dmitry dragged her into the tub with him with her underwear and a thin camisole still on. He maneuvered to place her underneath his body; one of his hands traveled south, between her thighs, while the other stayed on the small of her back, stopping her from melting in the warmth of the water and his embrace. Her breath came in desperate gasps, asking for _more_ and _go slow_ and _just like that_ , asking for everything he would give her and ready to pay in kind.

The purple dusk sky saw them come undone together; Dmitry's head comfortably resting on her chest and Anya's arms holding onto his shoulders tight as their heartbeats slowed down. Anya caressed his back, following the line of the muscles and found that his skin was pink and tender where her fingernails had scratched a while ago.

"God, I'm sorry, Dima," she murmured, moving the water around the lines as if to soothe them somehow. "Are you okay?"

He looked up at her and the concern on her features tugged at his heartstrings. "I'm fine," he reassured. Her face softened and she smiled. There she was: the strongest and kindest girl, her hair a beautiful mess and her hands caressing his face gently. "Anya?"

"Hmm?"

The moment felt charged and fragile, like a crystal bell about to toll. After a pause, he said: "Nothing, it's getting cold, is all. I'll get your robe," he disentangled himself from her embrace and got out of the tub. He placed a reverent kiss on her shoulder as he helped her into her robe, both of them still basking in the afterglow as they walked hand in hand to their bed.

~

Lily was sitting on an ornamented sofa in the Paris apartment she shared with Maria Feodorovna. She was busy arranging paperwork for the MF foundation; the TV was on and playing a repetition of the ice dance event at the Rostelecom Cup. She looked down at her papers and only vaguely listened to what the commentators were saying.

"The last group of the day is warming up now. Here we have Anya Morozova and Dmitry Sudayev, the team no one expected but everyone loves", said the woman animatedly. "What do you make of them?"

"They're definitely an unlikely pair. Side by side you can see the almost twenty centimeters difference between their heights, which can sometimes be problematic for an ice dance team. Sudayev was competing in singles until last season. He teamed up with Morozova who, surprisingly, had never skated competitively before", the man replied.

"I do think ice dance is a much better fit for Sudayev; he struggled throughout his singles career to keep up with shorter and lighter skaters.”

"They're the underdogs here at the Rostelecom Cup; they were a last minute replacement after the original host pick withdrew due to an unfortunate injury. With no titles under their belt and a season old career together, there's very little pressure on them," said the man dispassionately.

"They have, however, won first and second places in their qualifying events. That's promising for a brand new team and I'm thrilled to see how they'll behave in an event of this scale. Competing on a Grand Prix event on your first season as a team is quite the accomplishment", argued the woman.

"Certainly. Now they're talking with their coach, Vlad Popov" at the mention of the name, Lily looked up at the screen. It was definitely him, some pounds heavier and a little bit gray, but still him. "He's an unorthodox choice".

"But one that has worked wonders on this team."

"Indeed it has. They will not win a medal today but we might be witnessing the makings of a legendary team, wouldn't you say?"

"There's enough gossip to fuel a legend, for sure", she laughed. "Most teams face speculation about their dating status later in their career while these two credit their relationship as the main reason for them teaming up for ice dance. They are skating to the soundtrack for She Loves Me. That's just darling!"

Lily tried to distinguish the faces of the skaters, who had their backs turned to the camera and were talking animatedly with Vlad over the boards. The boy's arm held the girl's waist leisurely and she leaned into his side and whispered something in his ear.

"Let's not get distracted by the tabloids!" he joked. "Next thing you know we'll be talking about how Morozova totally looks like the late Anastasia Romanova!"

"Turn that off, Lily!" commanded Maria Feodorovna from the other room; Lily didn't wait to be asked again. Maria emerged from her room, clad in her embroidered dressing gown. "When will these vultures let the dead rest in peace?" she sounded tired even though she had just gotten up.

"Maria, please, don't exhaust yourself!"

"They throw around her name like she meant nothing!"

"No, Maria. She's remembered, she's adored, even now!"

"That's my family! My name! My Anastasia! I should be the one with the last word on how they are remembered, not the press!" she sat down and coughed dryly on a handkerchief. "Lily, can you leave me?"

"Of course", Lily picked up her things and left the apartment quickly. It had always been harder for Maria, she knew.

~

Later that afternoon at the office, she looked for the rest of the footage from the Rostelecom Cup, keeping an eye out for Vlad and his skaters.

"Look at Morozova. The way she moves is so elegant, so clean," the woman commentator praised softly over the upbeat music of the rhythm dance.

"Almost like she learned how to skate in France rather than Russia, I would say. It's an interesting combination, because Sudayev definitely follows the Russian tradition of precision and strength in his skating," agreed the man. "Logically, these styles shouldn't mix but-"

"But they work very well together, I agree. Oh, a wobble in those twizzles," she lamented. "And they've recovered alright," she commented.

The music ended and the pair held still for a couple of seconds.

"A very nice skate, yes. Definitely competing tomorrow, I would say," predicted the man.

The screen showed the boy guiding the girl to the boards and hugging their coach. Lily allowed herself a small smile watching Vlad being so warm to his pupils. The footage cut to replays of their performance, focusing on the edges of their blades and the difficult lift they had done near the end.

"A very solid program that played to their strengths. There's a lot of room for improvement but there's something about this team that I like very much," admitted the man.

"They're good skaters but they're excellent performers," explained the woman. "There's a love story unfolding on the ice and we're part of it. It's a difficult juggling act, ice dance. The technical skills are just as important as the artistic side." Suddenly, the whole screen showed a close up to the girl's face, looking adoringly at her partner. Lily gasped.

"Up close, she really does look like her, I'll admit," said the man with a chuckle.

She did. Lily got closer to the screen, putting a hand on her mouth and holding her breath. She wanted to count the freckles on her nose and see her eyes in person; it was uncanny. Her chest tightened with the memory of the little ice princess, the girl she had taught for years.

Their free dance was a harder watch for Lily now that the memory of Anastasia was so fresh in her mind. Even the fact that they were skating to Swan Lake, Maria's favorite ballet, felt like a sign. Her brain reminded her that Anastasia had been dead for years while her heart told her that this was her. She could see Anastasia in that unruly hair and those powerful legs and in those gracefulfingers.

"Representing Russia: Morozova and Sudayev!" boomed the announcer's voice in the rink.

"They're skating to Swan Lake," said the woman softly.

"Hardly an original choice. Let's see what they bring to the table," commented the man skeptically.

They were skating better than the day before, Lily noted, more confidently.

"Here come the twizzles," remarked the woman. "Excellent!" the audience erupted in applause.

"That's a perfect mark."

"Definitely. I thought we had seen the best of them yesterday but-"

"They're giving it their all. Great lift!" said the man.

"It helps that Morozova is stronger than most female ice dancers, the way she jumped to enter that lift and then sustained it? That requires not only skill but core strength."

Lily nodded at the statement. She always encouraged her female skaters to be strong rather than be small. Especially if they were young, seventeen or younger, like Anastasia...

"Oh, that's a very pretty step sequence! Feels like we're at the ballet!" both the commentators and the audience were warming up to their performance. The polite applause of the day before was replaced by thunderous ovation. Morozova was an engaging presence on the ice and Sudayev was playing the romantic hero successfully. Lily chuckled bitterly, realizing that Vlad's keen eye for valuables extended to the athletes he had chosen to coach: this was a winning team.

"What a beautiful skate!" exclaimed the woman. "I enjoyed every second."

"They keep surprising us. Let's see their marks."

The screen showed their names climbing up to second place. The skaters and their coach looked like they were about to faint.

"Those are higher than anyone expected."

"Especially them," chuckled the woman.

Lily forwarded the video to see the final positions. They had snatched a bronze medal. The camera crew had followed Sudayev to capture his celebration for tye broadcast. He lifted Morozova off her feet and kissed her; when the camera zoomed in on them, she was crying tears of joy.

The footage continued with a small interview to the medalists. Lily listened intently to Vlad's team. She quickly decided that she didn't like the Sudayev boy, too cocky, too similar to Vlad. The girl was different; she spoke in an animated voice, with what could only be described as a provincial-Petersburg accent. Morozova didn't seem educated or cosmopolitan but she had a humble charm that was completely lovable.

Lily rang the intercom on her desk to call her assistant.

"Yes, Madame Malevsky?"

"Could you do some research on the Morozova/Sudayev ice dance team when you have time?"

"We already have a file on them, Madame. Would you like a copy?"

"Why do we have a file on them?" Lily's voice came out high and surprised.

"They're applying for financial aid. It's standard procedure for the foundation."

"Oh- Yes. Yes, of course," Lily paused. This was too much. "When are they coming for evaluation?"

"They're already here, Madame. Their interview is scheduled for the day after the gala," her assistant replied patiently.

"Oh," repeated Lily. "Could you clear the rest of my appointments for the afternoon?"

~

Lily tightened her fur coat around herself. She felt like she was prepping for battle as she checked her make-up one last time before leaving the taxi.

Maria had insisted that the rink was open to the public and offered classes to young kids while also being the headquarters of most of their sponsees. It was a logistical nightmare, albeit a rewarding one.

Lily walked in to find the novices leaving their four o'clock class.

"Bye, Madame Malevsky!" waved a couple of eight year old girls at the door.

"Bye, darlings. I'll see you at the winter show!"

"We are snowflakes this year," said one of them proudly.

"That's lovely," Lily smiled and waved again. She looked around, the changing rooms were crowded but the rink was relatively empty. She studied the skaters as she approached the boards. On the far end of the rink was Vlad's team, joking around, disgustingly in love with each other. They approached the boards, leaving the ice near the exit where she was standing; they put on the guards to their skates and walked past her. Sudayev gave her a curt nod and a "Excuse me, ma'am". Morozova gave her a kind smile as she jogged in a feeble attempt to catch up with her partner; there was no recognition in her eyes and it made Lily choke up a little with the memory of Anastasia.

Behind the skaters, came a tall figure. Salt and pepper hair and beard adorned a face that Lily knew very well. She leaned on the boards with studied nonchalance.

"Fancy seeing you here, Vlad Popov," she said as he walked by her.

"Lily?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Act II Moodboard ](http://aralisj.tumblr.com/post/179456966096/holding-tight-as-the-dancers-whirl-ao3) <3


	16. The Countess and the Common Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Life is unfair that way. You can't have it all," Lily said bitterly. "Look at you," she said gesturing at his face, "tragically pretty and so poor."  
> Vlad shrugged. "You still love me," he said smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to give some love to our beta couple <3

**Winter, Moscow, 1985**

"Marry me, Lily. I will make you the happiest woman in the world. I promise! Please, just - Will you consider it? Consider me?" he begged, placing a ring in her palm.

"I will. But it's been a long day and I need sleep. We can talk tomorrow night," she squeezed his shoulder gently and opened the door to her apartment. "Goodnight," she said curtly.

"Goodnight, darling."

Lily gave him a forced smile as she shut the door. She sighed and shrugged off her jacket, throwing it across the room.

"You took your time," a deep voice complained from the bedroom. Lily walked to find a brown haired man, lounging leisurely over the covers, ready for sleep, wearing an old t-shirt and shorts.

"Oh, Vlad," Lily climbed onto the bed. "He just talks and talks and talks. Dull as a rock," she made a gagging sound.

Vlad chuckled. "But he's rich."

"Life is unfair that way. You can't have it all," Lily said bitterly. "Look at you," she said gesturing at his face, "tragically pretty and so poor."

Vlad shrugged. "You still love me," he said smugly.

"I do. God help me," Lily laughed as she moved to kiss him possessively.

"Aren't we eager tonight?" Vlad mocked.

"Oh, shut up," Lily put her face close to his, her voice low and sultry. " _You_ sent _me_ our sign from the ice. _Three times_ ," she nibbled his ear and giggled when his hands tightened their grip around her hips. "Gotcha!"

"I'm only a man, Lily," he pleaded.

"A man that can't commit," she reprimanded.

"Oh, not this again," Vlad sat up, still holding onto her. "You can keep your boy-toy. I don't mind."

"He gave me this," Lily took out the ring from her pocket. "He thinks it's serious. We're running out of time, Vlad."

For a good minute, Vlad only had eyes for the stone on the ring. "That's a diamond," he said in awe. "An expensive one."

"You think I care?" Lily's outrage only grew. "Look at me! We could make things work..."

"I'm not the marrying kind, I've told you, darling..."

"Couldn't you pretend to be the marrying kind? For me?" she caressed the side of his face. "You're it for me, Vlad," she said softly. "We could be so happy together. And I don't need the fancy wedding; we could elope. We could move to the country and get one of those old farms, with a lake. We could have kids and teach them to skate," she chuckled, trying to hide how important this was for her.

Vlad sat still, a bit shocked, and nodded. "I will think about it," he conceded.

"Really?" Lily squealed with delight. "Thank you!"

"Anything for you, baby," Vlad gave her his sweetest smile.

"Okay, I'm taking a shower," she announced, "and we can talk about this later."

"Yeah, that sounds great," he replied half-heartedly.

"Good," she pressed a peck to his lips and jumped out of bed. As she let her red hair down from the high ponytail it was in, she turned to Vlad, smiling. "I love you, pretty boy."

"I know you do," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

~

The cold wind had reddened Lily's cheeks and she took off her gloves hastily, biting at the seam to remove them. She struggled with the lock for a bit, only to realize that the door to her apartment was already open.

"Vlad? I didn't know you'd come today! I'm home, love!" she hollered. "Vlad?" she walked the length of the apartment, checking the kitchen and living room as she went. "Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? My treat," she got to the bedroom and, as she turned on the light, her stomach dropped. The drawers that she had left for Vlad to use were empty. She ran to the bathroom to find only one toothbrush. All of his stuff was gone, he was gone. And the diamond ring on her nightstand was gone too. "Son of a bitch."

~

**Winter, Paris, Present Day**

"Lily? What? How?" Vlad stuttered helplessly.

"What are you doing in Paris, in my ice rink of all places, Vlad?" Lily asked impatiently.

"Your ice rink?"

"Yes, my ice rink. I co-own the place. Why are you here?"

"I- We're applying for financial aid, my skaters and I. That's them," he gestured at Dmitry and Anya, a few meters ahead of them. Dmitry was holding Anya's beanie well above her head playfully; she was trying to retrieve it, jumping and tickling his ribs. Lily scrunched her nose at the saccharine sight and turned back to Vlad.

"I work at the foundation; I know that's what _you say_ you're here to do. What are you actually up to?"

"Lily, darling-" Vlad reached out to take her hand but she snatched it out of his grasp.

"Don't," she warned. "Am I supposed to believe that you just found this team that no one had heard of in the gutters of Petersburg? That the girl just happens to look exactly like Maria Feodorovna's granddaughter?"

"Well, yes. That _is_ what happened," Vlad shrugged. "What's with all these questions, darling? You were never like this."

"I guess it all started when you disappeared without a word after I proposed to you all those years ago," she spit out bitterly. "Look, Vlad, I don't care about a lot of things in this world but I care about Maria; she was there to pick up the pieces when you left. If you're planning to hurt her, to take advantage of her in any way..."

"I'm not. We're not," Vlad said softly. "I've been Dmitry's coach for years. He lost his sponsorship and then we found Anya... They're very good, Lily."

"I know. I've seen them," she admitted, biting the side of her cheek. "You still have an eye for talent, Vlad Popov."

"And you are still as beautiful as ever, my little rose," he said sweetly.

"I haven't forgiven you yet," she said sternly.

"I know," Vlad nodded. "Though, are you free for dinner tonight? I would like to explain everything."

~

"Okay, let me see if I've got this straight," Lily said, waving her third glass of wine around theatrically. "You found Anya working as a janitor and refusing to reveal her last name and your immediate reaction was to take her in for training?"

"Pretty much, yes," he chuckled. "She's a great girl. And she had no one in the world; you would have done the same."

"I wouldn't have," Lily snickered. "It's madness! I still don't know how you've pulled it off."

"Don't jinx it. We still have to do the gala," Vlad poured more wine in his own glass. "Lots could go wrong before that. They could break up and then where would we be?"

Lily cocked her head to the side, "I thought the whole dating thing was a publicity stunt."

"It started as that and then-" he let out a big sigh. "I guess it got real at some point. They fell in love, you know how it is," he smiled fondly at Lily. "They think I don't know, bless them."

A moment of silence stretched between them and Lily reached out across the table to take his hand. "I know you're too proud to ask but I would like to help in whatever way I can. Better costumes, some polishing for the programs... I have a good feeling about your team, Vlad."

"You would? Oh, Lily!"

"On one condition," she stopped him. "You have to tell me why you left. The truth. You owe me that much."

Vlad let go of her hand, running his hands through his hair nervously. "The truth, huh?" he cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. "The truth is I was scared and young and stupid..." he said slowly. "And I thought that what we had was easy to find. There isn't a day I don't regret leaving you, darling, you can ask Dmitry," he chuckled bitterly. "Poor boy, he has endured my sad, drunk self going on and on about you and how beautiful you are and how much I miss you and how stupid I was to let you go."

"You could have come back," she said softly, touching his arm.

"I was too ashamed and it was too late."

"Was it?" she asked so quietly Vlad thought he had imagined it. Lily let out a sad laugh. "It's a pity how things went between us… Drifting apart and all. From the way you talk about your skaters I think you would have made such a good dad, Vlad Popov," she cupped his face in her hand and everything felt right in the world for the first time in years. He was it for her still. God help her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Lily and how she deserved better, is it obvious?


	17. Paris Hold the Key (To Your Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dmitry loved to see her come alive like that but a part of him mourned the fact that he would never be as comfortable as she was; the only thing keeping him afloat was that tiny amount of air between their intertwined fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rostelecom Cup (the real one) happened and so this took a bit longer than expected. I hope you like it!

When Vlad told them that he would be taking the rest of the afternoon off, Anya saw it as the perfect opportunity to sneak away from the rink. She had a list with every spot in Paris she wanted to visit and was slowly adding to it.

"How would you like to join me for a soirée at Musée d'Orsay?" asked Anya, batting her eyelashes theatrically; Dmitry groaned with matching gusto.

It wasn't as bad as he had imagined. They walked hand in hand through the labyrinth of rooms and it felt like Anya had been there a thousand times before. The airy space and marble floors seemed to suit her, they made her glow. Dmitry loved to see her come alive like that but a part of him mourned the fact that he would never be as comfortable as she was; the only thing keeping him afloat was that tiny amount of air between their intertwined fingers.

"I didn't know they had this one here," Anya said softly, staring at a painting of waterlilies. Dmitry stood behind her, putting his arms around her shoulders.

"Where to next?" he asked kissing her temple.

Anya took out her worn out map from her pocket and crossed out the museum from her list. "I was thinking-" she bit her bottom lip and leaned back into his chest "-maybe we could go back to the hotel and get room service. You know, a quiet night in."

Dmitry chuckled at her attempt to sound sultry. Still, he held her tighter to his body and whispered in her ear: "I don't know about quiet. All that French talking has me worked up."

"You're such a boy, Dima!" she laughed, wiggling in his hold.

They walked back to the hotel, Dmitry's arm hanging loose around her shoulders, only stopping once so that Anya could buy a beret from a shop they passed by. She put it on immediately, fully embracing her status as Francophile tourist.

"It actually works on you!" Dmitry complained.

"Merci, Monsieur," she said, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him.

The rest of the evening was spent in their hotel room, in their underwear, eating and dancing and drinking and tracing patterns on each other's skins.

~

The morning was crisp, more appropriate for sleeping in than a day of training. Still, there they were, Anya sitting on the boards with Dmitry standing by her side. They had their skates on already and were supposed to be doing a run through of their program but the poor boy in charge of the music couldn't make the speakers work. Not that Anya was complaining, Dmitry's mouth was tracing the longest path from her jaw to her collarbone and she was enjoying every second of it.

"You know," she said, out of breath, "we should be practicing our twizzles or something."

"Or something?" Dmitry mocked, pressing a peck on her pulse point.  "I must be good, huh?"

"Don't let it get to your head," she kissed the tip of his nose and he scrunched. Anya still marveled at the fact that a boy so smug could be so lovable too. "Uh-oh," from her vantage point she could see Vlad approaching them, clinging from his arm was the woman they had encountered the day before at the rink. "Vlad's coming, help me down, please," she opened her arms out to him instinctively and he put her on the floor with a small twirl, like he did when they were in the ice.

"Oh, good! You're here already," Vlad waved with his free arm. "I want you to meet Lily Malevsky-Malevitch," he said ceremoniously.

"Hi!" Anya smiled sweetly and extended her hand to her. "Anya Morozova."

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, sweetie," said Lily cheerfully, as she studied her features. "And you must be Dmitry?"

He smirked as he shook her hand. "Vlad has told me a lot about you, ma’am."

"Good things, I hope," she held on tighter to Vlad's arm.

"Only good things, my little rose," Vlad reassured her. Anya and Dmitry exchanged a knowing look, and when the silence stretched a little too long, Dmitry coughed to catch their attention.

"So, should we warm up or-?"

"Oh, right! Yes and then a run through of the rhythm dance," replied Vlad absentmindedly.

"You got it," Dmitry led Anya to the ice barely containing his laughter.

"I had never seen Vlad like that," she chuckled.

"No one has. He's been stuck on Lily for as long as I've known him," he laughed.

"I feel like- I feel like I've met her before. Is that weird?"

"Not really, she was Anastasia Romanova's coach, you probably saw her in one of her videos," reasoned Dmitry.

"That makes sense," she shook her head like she was trying to get rid of some stubborn notion. "It's just, her voice and her- I don't know- Her presence? She seemed familiar."

Dmitry rubbed her back. "You'll figure it out," he sometimes worried about her and how vulnerable her lack of memories made her. "If I can help-"

"No, don't worry, I'm sure I'm making things up," she let out a dry chuckle and squeezed his hand as they skated to center ice.

They did a run through of their program and went back to Vlad and Lily; she was holding a tablet with notes for them.

"Well, that was lovely! Just a couple of suggestions if I may... You’ll need new skates, new blades and new costumes, obviously. Your arms are all over the place during the twizzles so we need to work on that-" she started listing rapidly.

"We?" Dmitry asked.

"Ummm, yes," Vlad looked embarrassed. "Lily is a very good coach and she has offered to help us..."

Dmitry looked like he was about to argue so Anya held him by the elbow and have him a meaningful look. "This could be good, Dima, make us better." He agreed begrudgingly.

"Good!" Lily clapped enthusiastically. "So twizzles. And that lift near the end? You need to hold your foot to your head faster, Anya, you only have one rotation before you get penalized. Let's see that again, okay?"

They went back and tried the lift one more time. "Again!" shouted Lily. They complied. "Now you took longer than six seconds up there, that's another penalization," she clicked her tongue impatiently.

Dmitry groaned as he went back to Anya. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"It's fine," Anya brushed her fingers down his arm.

He lifted her over his shoulders once again; counting and trying to keep with Lily's instructions. They went back to the boards expecting more suggestions shouted at them; instead she clapped for them. "Good! Now do it exactly like that every time!"

Anya chuckled breathlessly. "It's going to be a long day, isn't it?"

"Definitely," Dmitry sighed and bent over, holding his knees, trying to catch his breath. He saw a couple of drops of blood on the ice; it was falling from Anya's hand. "You're bleeding."

"Shit!" she opened her hand to find a cut on her palm. It didn't look too deep but her fingers were completely covered in blood. "Sorry."

"Vlad, we need a clean towel and the first aid kit!" Dmitry hollered.

"I'll get it," Lily walked away briskly while Vlad threw a towel at Dmitry.

"It's not that bad, really," Anya let him wrap her hand in the towel and help her out of the ice. They sat together in the stands and Dmitry lifted her hand.

"You need to keep that above your heart," he pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding but the towel kept getting redder. "It should have stopped now."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Anya said patiently. "The nuns at the convent said that my blood was too thin or something like that. I bleed a lot and I bruise easily," with her free hand, she lifted the leg of her sweatpants to show him her shin where she had hit it the day before. It was a faint shade of purple with red around it.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Lily had come back with the first aid kit and the bleeding had finally stopped, so Dmitry started cleaning her cut.

"I guess I didn't want to talk about it. Before, at the convent, they used to say I was a young bride running from an abusive husband and that it was a miracle that I had made it out alive,” she winced when Dmitry applied antiseptic to the wound. “I hated it, it made me feel helpless. Besides, there's nothing you can do, babe. Mother Lourdes told me these kind of things are genetic and since I don't know anything about my parents..."

"I get it," Dmitry frowned in concentration as he secured the cut with medical tape. "It's just- You got me worried there for a minute," he sighed.

"Dima," Anya didn't know what to say and she wouldn't have been able to say it anyway, not with that knot tightening around her throat. He was bandaging his hand so carefully it seemed like he was holding a tiny bird in his grasp.

"There," he said after a moment. He bowed his head to kiss her palm. She cupped his face and her thumb landed on that tiny scar on his cheek.

"Thank you."

~

Lily had arranged a fitting for their new costumes the very next day. A troupe of seamstresses rounded Anya, placing pins and showering her in compliments in French. The dress that Anya was wearing was white and floaty, with a plunging neckline and tiny crystals adorning the bodice. It was the prettiest and tightest thing she had ever worn.

"Lily, it's gorgeous but I don't think this is within our budget," Anya said softly.

"Vlad didn't tell you? I'm paying for the costumes," Lily replied absentmindedly, walking around the plateau where Anya was standing. "I think we could try a dress with a bare back, what do you think?"

"I appreciate everything you've done for us, Lily, really. But this isn't necessary-"

"Nonsense!" Lily went to retrieve a blue beaded dress and placed it near her face, as if to check if both matched. "The way I see it, this is an investment. You and the Sudayev boy are clearly fixed on having Vlad as your coach, correct?" Anya nodded, a bit taken aback. "And I have made up my mind of staying with Vlad as long as possible. Who knows what will happen at the gala but I'm with you for good, if you'll have me, of course," she gave her a sweet smile.

Anya looked at her reflection in the mirror. It felt like she was seeing someone else, someone more grown up, someone who knew what the future held. "Okay, then. I'm shopping in Paris," she said to herself, finally relaxing into the dress. "I like this one, very much."

"Me too," Lily giggled, giddy with the joy of winning an argument, albeit a small one. "I do think the shoulder should be looser. Here," she pointed at the strap that needed to be adjusted. One of the seamstresses rushed to remove the pins, leaving Anya in a bodice that barely held up, both straps falling down her shoulders.

Dmitry chose that moment to come through the curtain that separated their changing rooms.

"Anya, can I-?" he was immediately ambushed by all the seamstresses, asking him to leave in frantic French. "I just want to talk to her! Lily!"

"She is in a state of undress, come back later," Lily dismissed him.

A lifetime of looking for loopholes had prepared Dmitry for this. Fueled by pettiness only, he removed his shirt and stood his ground. "We're both in a state of undress; can I talk to her now?"

"It's fine, Lily. Five minutes," Anya started giggling uncontrollably. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Anya said fondly when they were alone.

"I'm glad you find this whole circus amusing," he replied dryly.

"Hey, Dima-" she extended her hand to him. The plateau she was standing on evened out their height difference, so she cupped his face and drew him near until their foreheads touched. When they broke apart she wasn't surprised to find his pretty eyes framed by a frown. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm tired of all this," he muttered. "People telling me what to do and what to wear... It's fucking exhausting."

"I know," she fixed the hair around his eyes.

"Do you? Because you seem to be doing just fine," he replied bitingly. "Enjoying it, even."

"I'm-" she thought of lying but stopped herself. "I am," she admitted.

"It's fine," he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear his head. He looked down at Anya's dress and sighed. "You look pretty."

"Thanks," she grabbed his hand, drawing circles on his knuckles, wishing she knew what to do.

"I'm done with my fitting. I guess it's a good thing that men costumes are easier," he said softly.

"Less sequins."

"Yeah," he chuckled half-heartedly.

"You can go ahead and we'll meet at the hotel," Anya said. "You could explore the city or go meet Vlad..."

"Yeah, don't worry about me," he squeezed her hand and tried to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm just-"

"Come here," she opened her arms and held him tight to her chest, trying to feel his heartbeat, trying to soothe him like she did before competing. "I'm still here," she promised.

~

The room was dark when Anya got back. She maneuvered clumsily with her bags and the doorknob, eventually stumbling on the bed and waking Dmitry up.

"The fuck-?"

"Shoot! Sorry, Dima," she dropped her bags on the floor, closed the door, and turned on the light by her bedside table. "Lily took me shopping after my fitting and then we got dinner... I didn't realize it was so late," she explained as she removed her many layers of clothing.

"It's okay, just come to bed," he replied half-asleep. Anya sighed and climbed into bed beside him. His arms reached for her waist instinctively but hesitated once he felt the rich satin of her nightgown. "What's this?"

"It's new. You like it?"

"Not sure," he closed his eyes again. "It's slippery."

"But you can have your shirt back now," she reasoned.

"I told you, I don't want it back," Dmitry grumbled. "Let's just sleep, okay?"

"Okay," she squirmed, constricted in his embrace, feeling like he was scared that she would slip between his fingers.

~

The MF Foundation had organized a dinner for all the participants to meet a week before the gala. It was a lavish affair and Dmitry had never felt so out of place in his life. He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt, feeling restless. He could pretend and lie and act like he belonged but Anya thrived.

"Dima, do you mind?" her voice brought him out of his spiralling angst.

"Hmm?"

"Do you mind if I dance? It will be just a moment," Dmitry looked up to find a tall, blond man extending his hand to Anya.

"No, go ahead. I'll go find Vlad," he faked a smile as she left, and paced around the room, getting a fresh glass of wine as he went.

"You look a bit lost," Dmitry looked down to realize he had almost walked into Lily. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied unconvincingly.

"Is Anya here?" Lily asked conversationally.

"Yes, she came with me," he pointed at the dance floor, where she was dancing with another man he didn't recognize.

"Did she now?" asked Lily.

Dmitry ignored the pointed question and focused on his glass of wine instead. One more week before the gala, he repeated to himself; one more week before things went back to normal.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been asking me for angst and I'm here to please.  
> I would love to read your thoughts!


	18. Land of Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mama! Mama!" Anastasia rushed through the door, her big, white dress crinkling behind her. "Olga says I can't be a skater when I grow up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #FlashbackFriday

"My little girl," Nicholas crouched to kiss Anastasia's forehead. "Be good while we're gone."

"Why can't I go with you? I want to see Alexei!"

"A hospital is no place for kids," his father explained patiently. "But we'll tell him you're thinking of him. In the meantime, you have to promise to be good girl and behave while Nana and Lily look after you."

He hugged her one last time and let go. Lily was already there to hold her; they waved goodbye together when her father's limousine faded out of sight.

Anastasia's eyes were red already from crying and her small frame shook with sobs.

"We're going to have such a good time, Nastya! Don't worry," Lily said, trying to distract her. "Your Nana gets here in time to tuck you in at night and we can go skating this afternoon! Would you like that?"

Anastasia nodded silently, drying her tears with the back of her hand.

~

It was almost Christmas and the ice rink glowed with fairy lights and fake mistletoe.

"Will Santa Claus find Alexei if he's still in hospital by Christmas?" asked Anastasia as Lily tied the laces to her skates.

"I'm sure he will, he's clever like that," Lily replied. "All good! Let's go!" she offered her hand for Anastasia to take as they stepped on the ice.

They started off slow, gliding from one side to the other. Anastasia went from hesitant steps to longer strokes to practically dragging Lily by the hand.

"I wish Papa would take us skating more often," she said euphoric, trying to do small twirls and stumbling adorably, imitating one of the older girls at the rink.

"We can come again tomorrow, if you want," Lily smiled at small, six year old Anastasia.

"Can we come every day?"

~

"Mama! Mama!" Anastasia rushed through the door, her big, white dress crinkling behind her. "Olga says I can't be a skater when I grow up!"

Olga walked in behind her, already rolling her eyes at her sister's tantrum. "I only said that figure skating isn't a proper career," she replied.

"Olga is right, Anastasia. If you want to make a living as a skater, you have to be the best one," her mother said somewhat sternly.

"I will be! Auntie Lily says I will," she bounced happily and her braids became undone.

"Anastasia! The mess you've made!" her mother reprimanded her. "Come, sit! We have guests for dinner tonight!"

"Can I compete? Please?" Anastasia kept wiggling even sat down.

"You should ask your father, my Nastya. The training for figure skaters is very expensive," her mother reasoned, braiding her strawberry blonde hair neatly.

"I can pay for it, Alix," Maria offered. "It can be my gift for little Anastasia."

Anastasia beamed at her grandmother but Alexandra was taken aback by the offer. "We still have to discuss it with your father," she resolved. "Go with Olga. Wash your hands, both of you!" she only continued once they were out of earshot. "I know she's your granddaughter but you can't do that. Fill her head with silly dreams! God knows she doesn't need help for that," she reprimanded Maria.

"I just want her to be happy, is that so bad?"

"She's seven! She doesn't know what's good for her."

"She will succeed in whatever she chooses. She's not afraid of anything!" Maria declared proudly.

Alexandra sighed. "Fine. We'll talk about this with Nicky after dinner," she conceded. "But I won't tolerate her leaving her studies unattended for some pipe dream that won't come to anything."

~

"Nastya, you have a visitor!" Lily hollered from the boards. Anastasia had been struggling to land her triple lutz all morning and she thanked the distraction. Her relieved smile turned into an open grin when she saw her Nana waiting for her.

"You said your flight got here on Sunday!" Anastasia hugged her over the boards.

"I decided to come early and see you before the competition," she held her granddaughter’s hands, cracked by the cold. "Your hands, my darling," she let go to open her purse and take out a tube of hand lotion. She dropped a generous dollop on her palm.

"Orange blossoms," Anastasia chuckled at the memory of her five-year old self, dropping an entire jar on her Nana's carpet. She loved that smell.

"That way I can be with you when you skate, my darling," her Nana said reassuringly; it was just what he needed before competing.

~

"Keep your eyes closed," her Nana commanded.

"They're closed," Anastasia bounced impatiently as her grandmother guided her through a hallway and into what felt like a very big room. It was drafty and her footsteps echoed behind her.

"We're here. Open them!"

Anastasia found herself in what looked like a hangar. Sometimes, when they took his father's private plane, they would arrive to places like this, in the outskirts of Paris. It was almost in ruins; the wildlife had taken over and there were bird nests on the ceiling and bindweed climbing up the walls. Still, she smiled, knowing her Nana wasn't one to disappoint when she promised a big gift.

"Lily and I bought this place to make it into an ice rink. When you're old enough, we will be able to take you as a co-owner. In the meantime, here's your key," she handed Anastasia a keyring with her initial embellished with diamonds and a shiny, silver key.

"Nana!" she took the key and hugged her tight. "I don't know what to say."

"I thought your third junior championship deserved a little something to remember it by," she said in that bubbly way she reserved for her grandchildren. "It's going to be months before this becomes an actual rink you can skate in but you'll love it! Lily is going to teach young skaters and you can too, later," she smiled fondly, tucking her unruly hair behind her ear. "You've grown up so quickly."

"I'm only sixteen, Nana. It's going to be a while before I retire," she joked. She turned the keyring in her fingers and saw a small pendant engraved with "Together in Paris".

 

 


	19. In a Crowd of Thousands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They skated together and it felt like everything was falling into place. Dmitry could imagine his life like this, training with Anya every day and falling asleep holding her in his arms every night; competing in the winter and going somewhere remote in the summer. They complemented each other in ways he couldn't explain; their hands fit perfectly, their heartbeats synced up. It felt right. He wished for an eternity of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this chapter, I started writing this fic with these scenes in mind so I hope you enjoy it! <3

"I wish you could be here for the gala, Soph!" Anya smiled at the screen of her phone. It was Sunday and the first time they both had time to video chat since Anya and Dmitry had moved to Paris.

"I wish I could too! But I'll see you in two weeks. Gleb has some sponsored thing in Lyon and he's taking me with him," Sophie said with a satisfied, cat-like grin on her face. "And I can ask Vlad to record your skate for me."

"That reminds me," Anya chuckled, fidgeting with her phone to send a video to Sophie. Lily had been recording their training sessions to be able to spot their mistakes more easily. This particular clip showed Dmitry and Anya in their training clothes, Swan Lake playing faintly in the background. He held her waist and lifted her, while she extended her arms to the ceiling, like the wings of a bird; they turned slowly as if on a turntable. She melted against his body and landed on one foot, gracefully. They transitioned into their twizzles; the first one elegant and perfectly in sync. During the second twizzle, Dmitry tripped and, instead of simply falling over, he had done a mock pirouette to disguise his fail, his arms flailing all over the place. Every skater at the rink was bent over with laughter; Sophie too was in a fit of giggles on the other end of the screen.

"Oh, I miss that boy!"

"He's an idiot, I love him," Anya said absentmindedly.

"You love him?" Sophie inquired, suddenly very serious.

"I meant- you know what I meant," she stuttered, eager to change the subject.

"I mean that I care for him and he's- we’re-  he has such a good heart, Soph. And I trust him. But I don't remember- I don't have anything to compare it to. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah… You'll know, don't worry," reassured Sophie.

~

After her shopping trip with Lily, Anya donated almost every item of clothing she had brought with her from Russia; it was a slightly milder alternative to burning everything like Lily had suggested. She kept Dmitry's shirt, well hidden in her suitcase. Dmitry had welcomed the change with mild amusement; he had particularly liked an all-black outfit Anya had worn for training, with mesh on the back and skin tight leggings. He started enjoying the change when, after a day of sightseeing, they got back to their room and, as Anya undressed, he caught sight of the underwear that she wore when they were off the ice. It was a pearl grey ensemble with lace trim, simple and beautiful. Dmitry hadn't quite realized how different Anya looked from when they had first met: her hips were fuller, her arms and legs were stronger and her stomach was no longer lined by the edges of her ribs. His eyes followed the curve of her muscles, up her arms and down her back.

"You look like your eyes are going to pop out," Anya giggled when she caught him ogling in the reflection of the mirror. She walked towards him, mocking a model's walk.

"I'm only human," Dmitry put his arms up in surrender. "I like this better than the nightgown" he admitted, his fingers ghosting over the lace that covered her back. "You should wear it," he added awkwardly.

"I am wearing it," Anya chuckled.

"Of course, yeah. I’m just trying to give you a- uh-"

"- A compliment?" Anya finished. Dmitry nodded and gulped. Anya raised her hands to intertwine her fingers with his. "Thank you," she said, wanting it to mean how much she cared for him; it had always been unspoken between them. "You're my favorite person in the world," he could hear in her laughter when they chased each other to the bed. "I like you so much," she said when she caressed his face. "You make me feel safe," she confessed with her slow kisses down his neck. "I want you," she repeated with the roll of her hips. "I'm not going anywhere," she reassured with the tight embrace of her arms and legs. It was enough, Dmitry concluded. He could feel the Earth shifting underneath them but he could take it all if Anya was by his side.

He fell asleep peacefully, feeling her breathe on the nape of his neck, her head resting between his shoulder blades and her hands over his heart.

~

"The gala will be a three day event," explained Lily, for the umpteenth time. "Maria Feodorovna will be present for the second day, that's the free dance for you. The rhythm dance will be used to determine your technical ability but the main event is to make her like you. She has never sponsored a skater she didn't like."

Anya nodded. "We can do that," she said, confidently.

"I'm not worried about you, honey," said Lily, side-eyeing Dmitry.

"What? I'm a delight!" he complained.

"Let's hope she thinks the same," replied Lily dryly.

~

Before they knew it, the first day of the gala was upon them.

Dmitry waited outside the changing rooms, fidgeting with his suspenders and tightening the knot of his bowtie over and over. Anya came out, made up like a flapper girl in her white dress.

"I thought that dress was for Swan Lake," said Dmitry.

"Lily said that it was too obvious or something like that," Anya pulled at the floaty skirt. "I can change, there's still time"

"No, it's perfect, Anya," he grabbed her shoulders and moved to kiss her forehead. "Don't worry."

She smiled up at him and took his hand.

They skated together and it felt like everything was falling into place. Dmitry could imagine his life like this, training with Anya every day and falling asleep holding her in his arms every night; competing in the winter and going somewhere remote in the summer. They complemented each other in ways he couldn't explain; their hands fit perfectly, their heartbeats synced up. It felt right. He wished for an eternity of this.

~

"You were great," Anya said breathily between kisses. She and Dmitry were drunk on adrenaline and the euphoria of a perfect skate. They had managed to keep their composure long enough to get to the hotel lobby and it was taking every ounce of self-control Anya had not to jump Dmitry before the elevator took them to their floor. His mouth nibbled on her ear and down her neck.

" _You_ were great," he breathed in her collarbone. "God, you're so beautiful!"

He pressed his teeth softly on her skin, enough to make her hum contentedly. "Remember we skate tomorrow, I can't have hickies on my neck when I meet Maria Feodorovna," Anya said sternly but pulled him closer.

"That would sell the love story better," argued Dmitry.

"It's supposed to be ‘chaste love that led Dmitry Sudayev to redemption’ not _this_ ," she giggled.

"Fine! What's the neckline of the dress like? I'll try to be discreet," he punctuated the end of the sentence with a couple of pecks on her shoulder. They hadn't even bothered to change out of their costumes and Anya bit her lower lip at the sensation of Dmitry's hands over the spiderweb-like fabric that covered her.

"I'm not telling you anything, Sudayev," she laughed at his pout and squealed when he swept her off her feet to carry her bridal style to their room. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and kissed the soft skin there. "Such a gentleman!"

"I might be wearing a bowtie but I'm not a gentleman, Anya," he growled near her ear and reveled at the way she shivered in his arms.

"Prove it!" she challenged him, her eyes twinkling.

Dmitry looked at her with hungry eyes. He wanted to see that perfect chignon on her head come undone; he wanted to see her lips bruised from kissing. So they got to their room and he put her down, not to open the door but to kiss her greedily against the doorframe, his lips full of promises of bliss. Anya's hand carded through the soft hair of the back of his head; standing on the tips of her toes, she felt like she couldn't get close enough.

"Dima," she breathed against his cheek.

"Anya," he groaned, struggling to take out the card key with how close they were. They eventually made it to their bed, stumbling and giggling and leaving a trail of clothing behind them.

"I do love this dress," he confessed, as he helped her out of it. She laughed and took his bowtie out, throwing it over the dresser.

"And you look so good in a tux," she reached out to touch his cheek; with the top buttons of his shirt undone and his hair messed up he looked the right amount of disheveled to take her breath away.

"It's just a costume, babe," he kissed her eyelids, loving the buoyant enthusiasm that hid behind her closed eyes. He could feel her excitement as his fingertips touched her skin. With his lips he traced every last scar that he could find. There were lines on her shoulder and down her spine; there were blasts on the side of her head; there were pecks on her hands and stomach. Every last one was kissed reverently, lovingly.

"I need you," she gasped.

"I'm yours," he replied and made sure she knew, their intertwined fingers keeping them grounded, the rock of his hips making Anya feel like she could touch the stars...

~

Anya was alone in the rink; her heartbeat was so loud she could feel it on her throat. She was looking for someone or running away from someone but she couldn't remember...

She glided slowly; her vision was blurry or, was it mist rising from the ice?

She heard laughter behind her, musical, familiar... She turned around to chase it, but, when she did, there was no one there.

The faint sound of someone praying next to a sickbed echoed in the rink and suddenly she wasn't in the rink... She was in a hospital, the beeps from the machinery a little too slow. It unsettled her. She wanted to go back. Go back, where?

Something was wrong. She felt cold, way too cold, and tired. Her legs were numb and she was in a forest, all alone. Her hands were covered in blood, was it hers? She cried for help until her voice broke but no one came.

She was lying on her side in the cold. Was it snow or just her lonely bed? No, she had fallen on the ice and now she could never find them; the voices that laughed, the voices that prayed.

All at once she was being pulled away, suffocated. She screamed again and again...

~

"Anya, it's just a dream! Anya!" Dmitry tried to hold her, struggling as she moved her arms frantically.

"No! I have to go back!" she squirmed and fought with the tangled sheets. "Dima!"

"It's me, I'm here, Anya," she gasped when she looked at his face, finally awake. Her screams turned to muffled sobs as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm here," he repeated, running his fingers through her hair, humming soothingly.

"It was a bad one," she said softly.

"I heard," he kissed the top of her head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she couldn't even remember the details of the dream, just the fear and pain that gnawed at her insides. "Can we talk about something else, Dima? Anything."

"Ummm," he hesitated, rubbing her spine softly. "What do you want to know?"

"What will you do if we get the sponsorship? What's the grand plan?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I was thinking we could compete next season and see where that takes us..." he said softly.

"The Olympics?"

"That's the dream," he chuckled. "I know it’s three years away but I feel that it might happen with you, you know? Is that silly?"

"No," she kissed his shoulder. "It's sweet."

"And after, I thought about coaching, like Vlad."

"You would be a great coach," Anya paused for a moment. "I haven't really planned much further than tomorrow."

"You would be a brilliant choreographer!" he beamed. "That lift you planned out? And that step sequence you suggested to Vlad? You are a natural!"

"Thank you," she smiled into his chest. "I just feel like I should be better, be as good as Anastasia Romanova to get the sponsorship."

"You are as good as she was, Anya," he said simply.

"Do you really believe that?" Anya asked.

Dmitry reached out to put his finger under her chin, staring into her eyes. "I do," there it was again, the smug smile, the open confidence… Anya's face softened and she kissed him.

"Did you ever meet her? Anastasia?"

"Once," he said cryptically. Anya looked up, her head now resting on her hands to see Dmitry's face more clearly, prompting him to tell her everything. "Okay, so I was ten and it was December," he looked up at the ceiling as he spoke, like he was seeing the whole thing play out before his eyes. "It was the first winter I'd spent without my Dad, and it had been tough. I was pickpocketing and sleeping in the streets. That day- it was freezing cold- there was a storm or something- I ended up in the rink where we trained, it was so crowded that it was warmer inside than out. There was a figure skating competition going on and I had never really cared for that kind of thing but I stayed. Then this music started playing, it was like a lullaby, and a tiny girl was jumping on the ice like it was the easiest thing in the world..." he traced patterns on her back as he talked and she smiled. "I started running towards the ice, like an idiot. The way she moved, Anya! She stood so straight and moved so elegant, like a princess or something," Dmitry chuckled and, for a moment, Anya could see him as that boy, completely taken by Anastasia. "When she finished her program, I started cheering for her. She turned to see me and she smiled!"

"You’re making me feel like I was there too," Anya curled up closer to him, yearning for the warmth of his skin and that feeling of being tangibly real by his side.

"Maybe you were," Dmitry said, Anya gave him an incredulous look. "No, I mean it! What if you were one of the girls competing that day?"

"Maybe... It's just- I can see you, little you I mean, clear as day, with your toothless smile and your dirty face..."

"Hey!" Dmitry nudged her and she giggled.

"Little Dima running towards the ice and cheering..." she started talking slower, her eyes focused on something distant. She yawned, the excitement of the day was finally taking its toll on her. "And your voice and the voices of her sisters... And she took her bow and then you bowed too," she smiled softly, eyes heavy with sleep; Dmitry's hand, busy drawing patterns on her shoulder blade, froze mid-sentence.

"I didn't tell you that," he said.

"Mmm?" Anya reached out to touch his cheek, already half-asleep. "I remember," she closed her eyes.

"Anya?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you mean you remember? Anya?"

She rolled over, snuggling to his side and left him wondering, his heart thumping, sitting in the dark.

"It can't be," he muttered but still stared intently at her, the irrational fear of Anya disappearing slowly creeping in... Not disappearing: changing. He stared at her bare back, dimly illuminated by moonlight; her scars glowed pearl white. Suddenly, he was struck with the memory of the Romanov car crash and it seemed like two puzzles were coming together: the shards of glass from that crash and the jagged edges of her scars. " _No fucking way_ ," he murmured.

His brain reminded him that they had been no survivors, while his heart raced, very sure that lying next to him was the real Anastasia Romanova. What was he supposed to do?

He had the sudden urge to go for a run, anything to stop the incessant bickering inside his head. He couldn’t be trusted to make any important decision past midnight; it was like his judgement and carefully built defenses crumbled down. He hated it. In the past, this had led to several disadvantageous bets with Vlad, and a couple of one-night stands that he would rather forget. But this was an entirely different thing…

So he left and ran as fast as his feet would take him. Still, as he went down the deserted streets of Paris, there was that fear: that he would come back and find the room empty, or even worse, he would be met with someone other than Anya. _His Anya_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some links:  
> * I've always imagined their rhythm dance like [ this beautiful skate ](http://youtu.be/iF4Cf8W_cP4).  
> * Dmitry's fail is heavily inspired by [ this gem ](http://youtu.be/h0dJ-IUYjis?t=264).


	20. Meant to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's Anya; I've got to tell her something and it might change everything..." Dmitry stumbled with the words, trying to explain just how easily his world would go tumbling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sweet, like the song <3

"Anya, babe, wake up," Dmitry sat next to her on the bed and fixed her hair, watching as she opened her eyes slowly.

"Dima," she smiled at him and turned her head to kiss his palm. Dmitry's heart shrunk at the softness and familiarity of the gesture; it was like she had woken up to find him by her side a thousand times before... "How did you sleep?"

"Well," he lied softly. Somber thoughts roamed his head, thoughts of their mornings together being numbered when Anya found out who she truly was... Thoughts reminding him of promises to never keep things from her. "Umm, can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course. What time is it?" Anya blinked at the early morning light and rolled over to the bedside table to check her phone. "Shit! It's late! Can it wait, babe?"

"Sure," Dmitry stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, while Anya stormed around, picking up her makeup bag, her blue dress and her skates, shoving them inside her bag.

"Let's go!"

~

It was almost time for their free skate and the minutes dragged. Fidgeting kept Dmitry from going insane. For the last half hour, he had been pacing the hallway of the dressing rooms, thinking of the night before. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Dmitry?"

"Hmm?"

Vlad's hand on his shoulder woke him up from his reverie.

"Everything's going to be fine, boy," he patted his back. "It's a good program and you're great skaters."

"It's not- That's not what I'm worried about Vlad," he pondered whether he should tell Vlad about his dilemma, his doubt only lasted a minute, he was, after all, the closest thing he had to family. "It's Anya; I've got to tell her something and it might change everything..." Dmitry stumbled with the words, trying to explain just how easily his world would go tumbling down.

"It's all good, boy," Vlad said simply. "You love her. But maybe you should wait to tell her after you skate. These things can ruin focus."

"What? No!" Dmitry stared in confusion at his coach. "Wait, you know? You know we're together?"

"Of course I do! Not even you are that good of an actor," Vlad nudged his side playfully. "Come on! Cheer up! I think it's a good thing, you're good together."

Dmitry shook his head. "We'll talk about that later," he resolved. "No, what I have to tell Anya is that she might be- No, _she is_ \- She's Anastasia Romanova."

"Anastasia is dead, Dmitry," Vlad said patiently.

"That's what the newspapers said, Vlad, I know! But she's- She looks just like her; she doesn't remember anything about her life before four years ago and the Romanovs were killed almost exactly on that date," Dmitry started spouting all the proof he had gathered during his morning run. "She has those scars and PTSD like she was in a terrible car crash, she skates better than anyone I know, and _she remembers me_ , Vlad!"

"What?"

"From when I was a kid, when I snuck in to that competition, she remembers me!" Dmitry's voice broke and he let out a soft chuckle. There was a pause as what he had said set in.

Vlad's eyes were wide and he spoke slowly. "So we've found her and brought her to her grandmother in Paris... We've found the lost ice skating princess! And you-"

"I'll disappear," Dmitry said.

"But-"

"Anastasia Romanova doesn't need a skating partner," he said matter-of-factly.

"But you love her!"

"She deserves better," he said simply.

"You need to tell her," Vlad's voice was worried. Dmitry shook his head and resumed his pacing around the hallway.

"I've made up my mind, Vlad," he said. "I'll see that Maria Feodorovna recognizes her and then I'm out of the picture," it sounded like a speech he had practiced for hours in front of the mirror, trying to convince himself that it was the right course to take. His hands shook as he tried to put his bowtie on.

"Give me that," Vlad helped him with his tie and checked that he looked all right, like he did before every performance. He had a fatherly manner as he rubbed off a bit shaving cream from Dmitry's cheek using his wet thumb. Dmitry squirmed and protested. "Tie that!" Vlad pointed at the lace of his left skate that had become undone.

Dmitry cursed his new skates; yes, they were better but he still missed his old Russian ones. He sat and tied it forcefully, the last thing he needed was a sprained ankle.

He heard the soft thud of small feet walking towards him. He looked up, his eyes tracking immaculate white skates, translucent tights, shapely thighs, the swishing hem of a blue dress, a small waist, lovely shoulders accentuated by rows and rows of blue beads and sequins, the hollow of a collarbone, red lips, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

Any doubts he had that Anya was in fact Anastasia disappeared, as did any reservations he harbored about his feelings for her. He closed his mouth and stood to offer her his hand. She smiled, beatifically like a queen, lovingly like a soulmate.

Dmitry took out a small velvet pouch from his pocket and put it in her hand.

"What's this?" Anya asked brightly.

"For luck," Dmitry replied cryptically. Anya took out a delicate silver chain, dangling from the middle was her pendant.

_Together in Paris_ , she read slowly. "I thought you sold it!"

"The diamonds were enough and I thought you'd want to keep it."

Anya stood close to him and raised to the tips of her skates to kiss his cheek, a silent _I love you_ swallowed along with a couple of tears. "Would you help me put it on?" she said finally.

"Sure," his hands were still shaking but he managed. He kissed her shoulder and it felt like a faded memory or a goodbye.

Vlad stared wistfully from afar.

 

 


	21. Quartet at the Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing could have prepared Maria for when she saw a petite strawberry blonde gliding on the ice during warm-up; she reached for her binoculars and watched her go, graceful, fierce... Could it be-?

Maria stared at her reflection in the small pocket mirror she carried in her purse. She looked pale, grey almost, with the black of her dress and coat almost draining her entirely of life. She liked it though, it gave her an air of severity, making the young fear her and the old keep their distance. Her hair had been fixed up into a bun and her makeup had been done; by who or when she could not really tell. Lately, it seemed that life happened to her and she just went through the motions. Lily was insistent that her participation in the events of the foundation was vital; she did what needed to be done and nothing more.

Today, she met the few hopefuls that competed for a sponsorship from her foundation; her face contorted into a grimace at the thought of it. She would have to sit and watch the free skate, and clap politely at the end of each program. Every year she hoped she would find a girl with talent and courage, someone that could carry the legacy of skating forward, someone like her Anastasia... Every year she was sorely disappointed. She had told Lily that this was the last year the auditions happened; she had wasted her time and money enough for a lifetime. And so, nothing could have prepared her for when she saw a petite strawberry blonde gliding on the ice during warm-up. Maria reached for her binoculars and watched her go, graceful, fierce... Could it be-?

She turned to Lily, sat beside her in the stands, and asked with calculated disinterest: "Who is that?"

"That's Anya Morozova, from Petersburg," replied Lily, omitting purposefully how involved she was with Vlad's team.

Maria simply nodded and hummed in agreement, still watching her movements closely. Suddenly, she found herself looking forward to her program. She wanted to see her jump, land a triple lutz without breaking a sweat like Anastasia used to do... But the girl reached out to hold the hand of a boy, and started skating side by side, smiling.

"That's her partner," explained Lily.

"Ice dance?" asked Maria quietly.

"Yes," Lily replied and it sounded like a death sentence; her Anastasia would never have skated in a team, she owned the ice all by herself. Even worse, she connected the girl with the ice dance team that had been linked with Anastasia at the Rostelecom Cup, all that distasteful gossip... Maria sighed and turned to look around, resignation painted her features. She wouldn't let herself believe in chimeras, not again.

~

Dmitry hated warm-up. A bunch of excited younglings trying to outdo each other while wearing knives on their feet was a recipe for disaster. He dodged a girl that had tripped while landing her double Axel and cursed under his breath. After a couple of laps around the rink, while an obnoxious pop song played in the background, he went looking for Anya. She wasn't hard to find, with her shiny dress and bright smile, she extended her hand to him and he could feel his heart melting. More than any medal in the world, he wanted her to be happy... And being in Paris with her family would make her happy.

"Are you okay?" he asked, taking her hand and swaying softly.

"Nervous," she admitted. "Can we do the twizzles and the lift? Just to be sure..."

"Of course," he said; he noticed her hands were shaking. "Hey," Dmitry raised their intertwined fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "Everything is going to be fine," he reassured and guided her to the boards, away from the crowd; he hugged Anya, pressing her to his chest, until her breathing settled and their heartbeats matched. Then, he took her back to the beginning, rubbing her back softly. They glided effortlessly into their twizzles; then the lift. They turned and turned, Dmitry's arms around her waist and her hands caressing his face. They could feel skaters passing them by, whirling and leaving ice shavings at their feet but they still held tight.

"I'm here."

~

It all happened in a blur.

Anya heard their names announced and she took her place by Dmitry, back to back, holding his hand. It felt like being on a fast train: circling each other on the ice at dizzying speed and then every mistake playing out painfully slow. A wobble in her twizzles felt an hour long. But then the music soared and Dmitry smiled and she had never seen him quite so earnest. She waltzed and spinned with reckless abandon, safe in his arms. Her skates cut through the ice leaving spirals behind, rippling like the waves of applause that followed their lifts. As she stood for their last lift, high on adrenaline and proud, it felt like her arms transformed into the wings of a swan; she felt weightless and radiant. All too quickly, and with the ghost of his hands still branded on her, it was over. They hugged tight, through her fingertips Anya could feel a frantic heartbeat, she wasn't sure if it was Dmitry's or her own. As they bowed, she felt extremely aware of everything around her, the jingle of the beads on her dress, the muffled thud of roses and teddy bears falling on the ice, and the empty seat beside Lily.

~

"She left after that first wobble," Vlad explained later. "Not even thirty seconds in, Maria was on her feet and out of the rink. It was like she had decided beforehand..."

"She sat through that awful Justin Bieber medley! We did Swan Lake! We were good!" Dmitry looked like he was about to pop a vein. "Please tell me that she will at least see Anya, she has to!"

"Lily is trying to convince her," Vlad pointed at the door behind them. "It isn't pretty," he lowered his voice. "She said she didn't want anything to do with the leech that fed of her granddaughter's death."

Anya was sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically quiet, the dread of everything settling in.

"I'll talk to her, I'll tell her-" Dmitry walked to the door, abruptly stopping Maria on her way out. "Madame, please... We've come all the way from Petersburg..."

"Some have come all the way from Timbuktu, young man, you're not special," she dismissed him but he stood his ground.

"I understand that your first impression of us is not stellar," he begun, causing Maria to scoff, "but I'll take the blame for that. Just talk to Anya, please, she deserves that much!"

"Whatever scheme you had planned out won't work so stop playing the sappy love story, it's pathetic," she scrunched her nose at Anya, and then turned to Dmitry, tightening her fur coat around herself. "What's your name, young man?"

"Dmitry Sudayev," he said sharply.

"Ah, yes. Fifth place at Nationals, was it? How fitting you had to pay for a partner to make your career rise" Maria relished the stunned look on his face. "I do remember you, Dmitry. I remember you, enquiring eagerly, trying to take whatever you could from me the very day that I lost my family," she paused to let her words sink in.  "Now, leave me alone."

"You have to listen! She has come all this way to find you!" Dmitry became more and more desperate. "She's your blood!"

Anya walked to his side and grabbed his wrist. "What the hell are you doing? This isn't part of the plan," she muttered.

"Enough! I've called security to escort you and your actress friend outside," as the guards dragged them out Maria said to Anya: "Be careful with that one, child, he will do anything to win," she waved her hand and they were thrown violently out, cold seeping in their bones.

"You lied to me," Anya stated, kneeling on the thin layer of snow that coated the parking lot.

"No, Anya-" he walked to her but she shrunk away from his touch like that first night when he had tried to comfort her after a nightmare, like he was a stranger.

"Why didn't you tell me you had met Maria before? Why would you hide that?" she asked in a frenzy.

"I- I didn't think she would remember. It wasn't like she said-!"

Anya got up and walked towards him, eager to fight. "No, you know what I want to know is what you meant by 'She's your blood'. Was that your backup plan all along? If our skating wasn't good enough, just trick her into giving us the sponsorship and present me as some long lost relative?"

"I can explain!" Dmitry tried to hold her again but she shook him off. "I have not been entirely sincere this past few days but-"

"I told you I didn't want to be left in the dark! You promised!" Anya let out a sad chuckle as the pieces to the convoluted puzzle clicked in her mind. "I can't believe I was so stupid! When you said I was the perfect partner for you it only meant that I looked like Anastasia, right?"

"No, Anya, listen!" Dmitry took air, trying to gather courage to say what he had locked up since the day before. "At the beginning it was about the money, I needed a partner and you were there. But now, everything is different because you are Anastasia. You are! I swear! Remember what you said about the competition and the boy that bowed back at you? That was me! You are Anastasia!"

"Oh, my God, let it go! You sound like a crazy person, Dmitry," her eyes were wet with angry tears; she dried them, drawing lines of mascara on the back of her hand. She closed her eyes tight. "Did you even like me?"

"Why would you even ask that?"

" _Did you like me_?" she repeated slowly. "Or did you just fuck me because I look like Anastasia?" Dmitry froze, like he had been slapped across the face. "I can't even look at you now. Don't follow me," she warned him, walking away briskly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some links:  
> 1\. I always pictured their free dance as [ this gorgeous skate ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRjqNbM9RHM&t=) (seriously watch it and let me know what you think, it is literally the only reason The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is referenced in this fic).  
> 2\. My [ ask box ](http://aralisj.tumblr.com/ask)if you wanna fight ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments and incoherent keysmashes are encouraged. Come talk to me about Anya and Dmitry at my tumblr (@aralisj) if you want :)


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